Apples and Ashes
by ShyLight
Summary: G1: Get out your hardhats kids. The multiverses are beginning to collapse on each other and Unicron is on the move.
1. Prologue pt1

I have been warning about this fic for a while now. That monster mega large mother of all Transformers stories that will seriously take every bit of mental thinky power that my brain meat can muster I had been talking about in my profile? This is it.

I warn. In the future there will be minor crossovering with other transformer verses (but not till later). You have been warned.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the deranged and crazy plot. And, before you ask, Maccadam is a canon character.

On with the fic.

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_:The Prologue:_

_A few million years in the past…_

The city located on Cybertron's lower east quadrant was possibly the most idiotically designed city on Cybertron.

Some figured, and rightly so did they deduce this, that it was darkest, dimmest and dreariest place on the planet. While it went by some rather unpleasant terms like the 'Pit gate' or the 'Hellhole', its actual name was Acerbinox. It was the city of bitter night.

It was a terrible place. Not for the reason that it was war torn because it wasn't surprisingly enough. Even though it was located on the cusp of both Decepticon and Autobot territory, it actually fell under the warring armies' radar since it had no strategic merit. It was a neutral zone.

No, it was a disagreeable and despised location because of the way it was built.

The whole place was designed like a Chinese jigsaw puzzle. There was no rhyme or reason to it. It was easy to get lost, almost as if the city itself actually _wanted _to get you lost. It was nearly impossible to get anywhere and much to its occupants' frustration, a simple walk could easily lead to one having to wander pointlessly and without direction for Orns before finding their way back.

The crooked streets were placed erratically, twisting and turning every which way. You would be tempted down a potentially straight path only to find yourself face to face with an impossibly tall iron wall that there was no way past. You would backtrack and continue down the crooks and nannies of the horrible city. At least until you would come across a split in the rode. With two ways back you would undoubtedly take the wrong path and lose yourself further into the bowels of the stinking city.

Yet ironically enough, this horrid place was one of the most visited places on Cybertron by both Decepticons and Autobots alike.

But why would anyone subject themselves to coming to such a heinous and confusing place?

For one reason.

To get overcharged, and plastered out of their minds.

Somehow, after wandering for who knows how long through cold, empty streets, after searching through labyrinth like corridors and tangles of buildings, the puzzle like city would grow tired of you and let you free of it's maze like structure. And you would, inevitably, end up in the place you were, without a doubt, looking for.

It was a small little shoddy structure tucked neatly and discreetly into one of the city's corners.

The building was circular and four levels high. The roof and fourth story was crowned with grimy, yellow tinted windows. The dark cobalt metal of the structure was old and rusting at the seams where the metal plates were locked together.

Above the door, bright red lights flickered dully spelling the name of the shady structure.

Maccadam's Old Oil House

It was a place one could relax and reflect or forget one's life. It was a place of no judgment. It was a place of no questions asked. A place where one could unwind. It alone was the only reason anyone would wander into the mind-boggling nightmare that was Acerbinox.

It was also the single biggest source of black market fuel on Cybertron.

Not that anyone cared about that little tidbit of trivia knowledge. Who cared where the goods came from as longs as they were there, right?

Inside was dimly lit, obscuring the faces of the bar's occupants with shadows. In the corner a harpsichord, an old neutral transformer who came and preformed every so often, was playing soft tunes. No one knew his name, and no one really cared. He simply faded into the background as did his music. So calling him 'That piano guy' sufficed.

Business was slow at the moment so the room was scarcely occupied save for a few regulars and a small group of younger mechs that were hunched over their various grades of energon. They were quietly chatting away with some nonsensical verbiage that only youngsters could spew out. All of them were overseen by the watchful optics of a burly old mech located behind the counter. He was polishing a tall octagonal shaped glass with an old rag with a sort of rough care.

Of course it wasn't really glass. Giving something so fragile to an inebriated mech with the grip force of over 3,000 lbs would not be the brightest of things to do. No, each glass was a substance created from carved crystal reinforced with translucent metal shavings. If you asked the old mech, he would tell you that he created the durable substance after getting irritated with losing several of his mugs in brawl fights.

He was the bartender, Old man Maccadam: a mech known for his sharp tongue and short fuse. He was the building's owner. He was the master of the small realm.

If you wanted to have a happy stay in said realm you would follow his rules. It wasn't really asking much since he only had two policies.

One: "If you can pay, you can stay." He never questioned his patrons regarding their allegiance and in return expected them to keep it under wraps. It was a place that Autobots, Decepticons and Neutralists alike could simply drink and forget without the risk of losing life or limb-- unless a bar brawl broke out, but generally whatever the drunks started Maccadam finished. For an elderly man he had a mean punch and could easily lift two grown mechs and toss them several Vuns away. He would not hesitate to do so either.

That led to the second policy: "You break it, I break you." Maccadam understood that energon loosened the glossa, but if your overzealous, drunken emotions took control and you started picking a fight with another mech, if the confrontation looked like it was going to be mech fluidly and violent, you sure as hell better take it outside. If one bolt was damaged inside the building you would get chucked out the nearest window faster then you could say, Sentinel Prime.

But no, there were no drunken fights at the moment. Besides the slightly off key harpsichord playing in the corner and the clinks of glass against metal, all was mostly quiet.

Maccadam set down a now spotless glass and picked up another one. He gave it a quick wipe with the cloth and discovered that there was a stubborn speck of encrusted something that was not willing to give way to the rag. Mildly irritated, he applied more pressure and virtually scraped the offending fleck off until the glass sparkled in soft, yellow lights of the tavern.

Maccadam was an average looking old timer with a pissy temper. His armor was of a much, much older design then most had, and he was colored with primarily earthen colors like soft greens and pale browns. Besides his tender, ripe age, which in such a warlike time was a rarity, there was nothing particularly spectacular or noticeable about him. He was normal.

Yup. That was what he was, completely normal.

Except for his optics. Those were not normal at all.

The fact that his optics were always narrowed because of the perpetual sneer engraved on his face didn't help all that much either. Regardless, it was generally assumed that it was simply an error in one's sight induced by the overcharged haze of energon.

Because all odds were against them being the green they appeared to be.

Many figured that it was the poor lighting of the bar that made them look the way they did. It would be easy for the dull, yellowy-orange light to reflect on blue optics giving them the appearance of a different color.

Yet they were so dark, and vibrant. Almost like glowing emeralds that held a sort of wise clarity that only age can bring.

Unless you angered him. In that case said clarity would become clouded with rage.

Speaking of which, his green optics shot up when he heard the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. A burgundy armored mech was sprawled out on the ground with and empty mug rolling back and forth next to his head. He made a noise that sounded like the spawn child of both a giggle and a pained moan. The sound was leaning more toward a moan though, Maccadam guessed, as the mech rolled over onto his side so he wasn't leaning uncomfortably on the curved fins protruding from his back.

And on those fins stood the proudly dark, violet sigil of the Decepticon alliance.

Apparently, the mech's drinking buddy, while not being in a much better state, did not get entirely floored like his friend. He did, however, drunkenly slide out of his chair onto all fours, laughing madly about nothing. Weakened by his bouts of laughter he was able to crawl to his friend and help him up. Miraculously the two were able to get on their feet again, and using each other as living crutches, were able to stagger out the door in hysterics.

Maccadam walked around the counter to the table in order to collect the energon coins left behind for their drinks. They left twice the actual cost of their drinks.

That's why Maccadam loved happy drunks. They were great tippers.

And who said Decepticons couldn't be generous?

He pocketed the money into one of his smaller subspace compartments. Then he gathered several empty glasses, some with droplets of glowing liquid lining the bottom, and held them in one of his large arms securely before going over the table roughly with a rag to remove any spilt liquid.

As he worked, he couldn't help but overhear the conversation held between a small group of young mechs a few tables down.

"You know…they say he's one of the original thirteen," One of the youngsters, a tiny fellow with a blue visor covering his optics, spoke with hushed tones.

"Who? Old man Maccadam?" another asked.

In hearing his name Maccadam sent a sideways glance in their direction, but continued to work on cleaning the table.

The proud red insignias on their bodies indicated the little brats to be Autobots.

Ah. Autobots. Maccadam was torn. Part of him thought that they were a good group of mechs with their sparks in the right place. On the other hand he also thought that they were irritating idiots and figured that there would be no greater joy then booting them out the door of his bar and off the nearest cliff.

But then that would be bad for business. Money was money after all.

"That old, crotchety bastard as one of the original thirteen? How much energon have you had so far? You know that's just a stupid rumor made by those drunken hobos." A light sea green mech leaned back in his chair and gulped the last droplets of his hot pink drink. He wiped his lips with his arm and refilled his empty glass with the pitcher.

The mech was blissfully unaware about how close the "old, crotchety bastard" was too shoving his foot up his exhaust pipe. Maccadam did not take kindly to being insulted in his territory. Yet he restrained, if only because he was curious to hear the tale being woven about him.

"It's true! They say he's was one of the first thirteen created by Primus. Also, his bar's supposed to be like… a place that exists outside of space and time, linking all realties or something," the visored 'Bot said whimsically.

"I did hear something like that," the third mech at the table, a rugged looking calico, added softly. He held on to his glass with both hands and swirled the liquid in the cup with lazy circular motions.

"Oh, Surgebreaker, not you too," the irritating green one moaned.

"Hey, I'm not sayin' any of it's true or nothin, but it's sort of a local myth of sorts that his bar is like, I don't know, a nexus of sorts." The Calico set his glass down and looked into his comrade's optics.

"Yeah!" The smallest mech nodded fiercely enough that Maccadam thought his head would shake off his neck and drop onto the floor. "Like, if you walk into his bar, you might run into your counterpart from another plane of existence. How would that be for weird?"

"Now that's just stupid, Ziptango."

"Maybe _you're _stupid."

"And that was really lame," the bluish green one added curtly. The small, disheartened mech's visor dimmed slightly. He slumped back into his seat and fingered his drink, staring at his reflection in the glowing, pink liquid.

Maccadam snorted and went back to his place behind the counter where he began polishing glasses again.

Absurd rumors they were. Just like he thought, it was nonsensical nonsense.

Or maybe not really.

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After a few more rounds of Yuss Platinum high grade and a half a dozen Trypticon oil shots, the small group of Autobots left in a drunken stupor. The poor, tiny one with the visor had a hard time holding his energon and could not for the life of him keep up with his older comrades. After a rather unpleasant purging he literally had to be dragged out since he didn't have the strength to walk. The green one Maccadam had taken a dislike to found the situation hilarious but the Calico, the soberest one out of the group, remained stoically reserved and carried the small youth out of the building in a sturdy fireman's carry.

Soon after they left, the remaining stragglers began to file out as well, one after another in their various plastered or tanked states, and exited into the chaotic grimy city out side. Eventually, even the old harpsichord neutral left. When, Maccadam wasn't sure. Nor did he really care.

He rather liked the silence.

Maccadam cleared the last glass from one of the tables and put it away. Finished, he pulled a key card out of subspace and quickly crossed the room to lock the door. It was closing time.

He halted as a strange foreboding chill wafted over him. Was there a draft or something? Shrugging it off his continued his journey.

He reached the entrance and was about to close it, but he noticed something.

Someone was standing outside of his bar.

Probably some beggar looking for spare change. '_Well, not here, buddy.'_

Maccadam stomped through the entrance ready to shoo away whatever lowlife was trying to leach off of his tavern, was about to say something, then snapped his mouth shut at he observed the being standing there.

It surely didn't look like a hobo.

It was a young mech. Said mech was so busy staring up at the flickering red sign above the building's doorway that he didn't even notice Maccadam standing not twelve meters away.

He was a sleekly designed mech with a formidable height if compared to most others (not Maccadam though. Maccadam easily towered several heads over him). His red, white and black armor gleamed like mirrors in the dimly lit city lights making him seem out of place, like a tenderly cared for diamond in the rough. It wasn't often you met a mech of such mint condition in the grimy slums of Acerbinox after all.

His face was something else too. His black helmet, adorned with two impish looking horn-like protrusions, perfectly framed his soft angelic features, and he had a unique shade of violet-blue optics that held a bright, refreshing aura behind them. One could only describe him as…pretty.

Maccadam never cared for pretty things that much.

"Hey, Punk! What the hell are you doing just standing there?" Maccadam addressed the 'Bot rather sharply

The red mech nearly jumped out of his dermal plating, and was slightly shocked to see an irritable old mech standing directly in front of him. A very _large,_ irritable old mech at that.

Maccadam crossed his arms, gave the smaller mech in front of him a once over and glowered.

He didn't see it at first since it blended so well against the red chest plate. Yet sure enough there it was: the scowling face of the Autobot symbol in all of its glory.

"Well, Brat?" Maccadam barked with annoyance.

The mech gave the old man a weak, unsure glare, but it quickly wilted and died leaving room for discomfort to shine brightly through his optics. Yet he said nothing.

Maccadam gave the smaller one a steely look of his own. Only his didn't fizzle and die as quickly. If anything, the lit fuse grew stronger from being fueled by impatient irritation.

"We're closing. If you're going to come in then come in. If you're going to just stand there and rust, do it somewhere else besides my property. Cleaning bills are high enough as they are," The barkeeper spat harshly at the wide-eyed mech.

The Red one shifted awkwardly but continued to stare at him with his large, blue optics.

Maccadam narrowed his own green pair and scrutinized the young mech. "If you're not coming in then slag off. This is private property."

The younger one's glare was reborn. Only unlike its predecessor this one held a fiery defiance. "No," his smooth voice growled with insolence.

Maccadam was rather surprised by the sheer ball bearings the cheeky brat must've had to openly defy him like he was.

It was pissing him off.

The throwing of Autobots off of a cliff seemed like a better idea the longer time went on. An irritating hard headed bunch they were anyways.

Maccadam's optics narrowed to dangerous, emerald slits, bristling with a silent anger.

The red one narrowed his own optics, seemingly taking the gesture as some sort of a challenge. However, his resolve seemed to have weakened slightly. His posture wasn't as steadfast as it had been, and the longer he was subjected to Maccadam's hard, dagger filled stare, the more his confidence was whittled away.

But it was at that moment after a careful examination of the young bot in front of him Maccadam realized something he hadn't noticed before.

With out warning, Maccadam released his intakes in a long dragged out hiss.

"What's your name?" Maccadam asked brusquely.

"Huh?" the smaller one replied intelligently.

"Don't make me repeat my self you little hoodlum! What. Is. Your. Name?"

The kid's optics widened in surprise. If he had expected anything from the awkward staring contest he had been engaged in it wasn't that. He shifted his weight to one leg and rubbed his arm, seemingly embarrassed. In a small voice he answered the green and brown Mech, "I don't really have one yet. My name's in the preliminary process still."

The detached stare. The blank confusion. The awkward posture and stance. It all added up to one thing. "Brat. How old are you?"

He flicked his gaze up to Maccadam, his violet blue optics brimming with hesitance. Nevertheless, despite obvious discomfort, he replied, "Fourteen orns."

Maccadam scoffed. The kid was only 14 lunar cycles old.

"You're a Fledgling." Maccadam said in an even tone.

"If you wanna call it that, sure." Said Fledgling shrugged casually.

"You," Maccadam pointed an accusing finger, "are underage. I don't care where we are, but I have _some_ morals. You're not getting a single drop of high grade out of this place so you might as well hightail that scrawny aft of yours back in to whatever hole you crawled out of."

"High grade?" The Fledgling blinked in genuine confusion. "No! That's not why I'm -" He stopped, pursed his lip components together and thought for a few seconds on what he was going to say next. "This place," His stare trailed off toward the building again, "It feels like… I was searching for someone and it felt like they would be here."

"You got lost," Maccadam said with a flat tone.

"No I did not!" The red Fledgling huffed. Then his stance deflated in defeat, and he let his shoulders droop considerably. "Okay, yes I did. In my defense though this stupid city is a shapeless swamp," he grumbled. "I mean come on! Whose bright idea was it to make every single flippen road lead into a wall? It's like the fences and buildings move around behind you just to confuse you! And have you seen the size of the robo-rats? I've seen smaller space shuttles then those beasts. Trust me; they are _not_ something you would want to meet in a dark alleyway at night. Then again, you probably wouldn't want to run into them in the day time either."

Maccadam cocked a gruff brow as he watched the youngster rant to himself. It was rare to see a Fledgling with such a defined personality. Most of their kind would act like airy bubble heads for at least half a stellar cycle before personality traits would arise as firmly.

Some mechs or femmes probably would probably find the rare independence charming.

Maccadam found it obnoxious.

"You said you were looking for someone?" Maccadam interrupted rudely.

"Seriously, they were this big." The Fledgling moved his hands wide apart to emphasize the monstrous size of the cyber rodents. He paused to process the fact that he had been spoken to and that the patience of the one who questioned him was dwindling considerably fast. Snatching the opportunity to explain his situation, he responded quickly, "Yeah. I lost someone."

"So why did you come here?" Maccadam demanded. "Do I look like a lost and found Mech? This is not a day care."

"I don't know. I was drawn here. There was an energy field I guess… It felt familiar. I thought I would find him." It was obvious that the Fledgling did not understand what had drawn him to the Old Oil House but he seemed content with not knowing.

Maccadam's green optics flickered in surprise. The brat had actually…sensed the barrier?

That was disturbing.

Maccadam sighed. "Come on." he began walking back inside the building. He tossed a look over his shoulder to see the young mech planted firmly where he stood. "WELL? Don't just stand there. Get in here. I warn you though; if you tell _anyone_ your age I'll drop kick you out of here faster then your CPU will be able to process."

The red and black hesitated, but then quickly nodded his head in agreement before following Maccadam into the bar.

The closer the unnamed bot got to Maccadam, the more uneasy the old mech felt.

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When they entered, the atmosphere of the empty tavern changed. It was a strange feeling but Maccadam chose to ignore it and instead slunk behind the counter of his bar.

"Here." Maccadam reached into one of the shelves under the counter and tossed a bottle to the Fledgling.

The red youngster had strangely good reflexes and caught it with a surprising grace. Most of his age bracket was still awkward and gangly with their new forms.

He opened his hand and eyed what he had caught with curiosity. "What's this?" The bottle was clear and smooth like liquid air. Inside of it there was a pale, dimly glowing, pink liquid. "Is this…?"

"Energon. Yes. If those churning fuel tanks of yours were any indication I'd say you need a refuel."

The mech gave a rather wicked grin that split across his face from audio to audio.

"Don't be coy with me, Brat. You'll get as much of a buzz out of that as you would with H2O. That's low grade right there." The bot in front of him may have _looked _like an adult but he was an adolescent nonetheless, and his systems were not completely developed yet. No high graded energon until the third upgrade. That was the rule.

The youth's dastardly grin morphed into a pout.

"Well Gee. Just stomp on my dreams and toss them into the garbage disposal why don't you." the young mech moped, cracked the lid off of the top of the bottle and took a swig. His face screwed up and he coughed the liquid down. After a brief moment of choking and hacking he slammed the bottle onto the counter and took a deep breath to clear his intakes. "This is disgusting. What, did you collect dew off of a Quintesson's ass and call it energon?"

"Like I would waste the good stuff on a brat like you. Be glad that our getting anything at all." Maccadam sneered.

Maccadam was becoming more and more disturbed by the Fledgling the longer he was by the youth. Something felt… off about him. It was as if there were two clashing auras surrounding him. One of the auras was cool, refreshing and light (Primus, that sounded so sappy). The other felt twisted and sinister, like a storm building.

But familiar as they were, he just couldn't pin point the feelings.

"Stop calling me Brat." The aforementioned bot pouted childishly.

"Well since you don't have a name I'll call you a brat all I want, Brat." Maccadam popped the lid off his own drink, a bottle of medium grade. "So, who are you looking for? You lose your creator or something in this mess of a city?"

The red one's face contorted with disgust. "Slag no. Why would try to find that totalitarian Hussy?"

"You better treat your elders with respect you little punk." Maccadam couldn't help but note on how old fashioned he sounded right then. Still, he _was_ old. He was allowed to do that. Youngsters had no respect now of days.

"You apparently have never met my particular creator. Or creators… Or overseers. Whatever the hell they are." The youth took a drink from his bottle, and then once again gagged in disgust after the action.

"Language, boy," Maccadam growled.

The Fledgling ignored him, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. His brows were knitted and discomfort was plainly painted across his face. He might as well have had "Distress" in bright bold letters stamped across his forehead; it was that obvious something had him distraught.

Maccadam could feel the trepidation inside him grow. "What?" he asked regarding the child's expression.

"It's frustrating. Since we don't have names yet I don't even have a name to call him with. I can't call out to him and find him. But I…" He stopped. "I can't find my brother."

Well that was different. Siblings weren't the rarest thing on Cybertron but they weren't particularly common either.

"And how did you accomplish that?"

"Accomplish what?"

"Losing your brother."

The red one shrugged. "I don't really know. We were being transported to a different location, Iacon or something, but something happened and our leaders started getting all fritzy and they started yelling and shoving us around. We got separated in the confusion. I tried finding him but I ended up-"

"Here, right?"

"Yeah." The smaller one slumped forward, obviously depressed from being separated from his sibling. "This place just…felt like him… This might sound stupid but this building's energy field felt just like his. That's why I thought he'd be here… " he trailed off ambiguously.

Maccadam could have shared some words of comfort to assure the youngster that he'd find his brother soon.

But Maccadam did not coddle. _Ever_.

"Well shoot. You're probably never going to find him now. This damn city's like a living, breathing maze," he remarked rather bluntly. "It's like this place is a puzzle and the hand of Primus comes down to fiddle with the streets."

The violet-blue optics of the child mech flashed with utter horror at the thought. Then they narrowed with distaste. "Well aren't you a shining beacon of hope? Half empty much?"

"Nope. Just half a cup too much," the elder snapped. "I'm not here to baby idiotic, sparkling brats." He glared down at the kid to see that his attention span was already elsewhere.

Perhaps this fledgling still was as bubble headed as his peers in some aspects. The red mech was gazing at Maccadam quizzically and it was annoying the old mech. "And why they hell are you staring at me?"

"You don't have an insignia," The Fledgling noted with naïve innocence in his voice.

"Yeah, so?" Maccadam, indeed, did not have either the Decepticon or Autobot symbols on his person.

"I don't know. It's weird."

"You're pretty observant for a moronic Fledgling. You know that right?"

"Are you an Autobot or a Decepticon?"

"Neither."

"So you're a neutral?"

"No."

The red and black looked at him questioningly. "Wait, then you're not on anyone's side?"

"I never said that I wasn't."

"So what did you…?"

"Primus, damn it boy! What is this, 21 questions? The world's not black and white. There are more sides then just Autobots, Decepticons and Neutrals. The sooner everyone learns that the better," Maccadam huffed.

The red mech raised an elegant eye ridge, seemingly confused by the vagueness, but lost interest in it quickly.

He had a short attention span.

That and something else caught and held his undivided attention.

Suddenly his face brightened and he sat up a bit straighter, with an alert look on his face.

Maccadam noted the sudden difference in attitude the brat had. Almost instantaneously he went from moping to perky.

And the twisted aura inside the bar, Maccadam noted, only got worst despite the others better mood.

"What now, Brat?" Maccadam asked.

"I sense him!" The youth exclaimed jubilantly. He leaped from his chair in a sprightly manner and aimed his gaze to the door. "He found me! He's near here! My brother," he whispered the last words happily.

"That's quite a bond you and your brother have there," Maccadam said slowly as he tipped his drink back to his lips, not sure what to make of the situation. Siblings did have a link stronger then most, but to be able to pin point the exact location and presence of the other was virtually unheard of.

"I don't understand it much myself," the Fledgling said sheepishly. "The overseers say it's because we're twins."

Maccadam nearly choked on his energon.

The Fledgling was a twin.

They were twins.

It all made sense now.

The unease in his bar. The strange way the Fledgling had acted.

And he had led the worst possible thing into his bar. He let one in.

And the other was in its way. If both came to his bar at the same time…

'_Oh slag! What have I done?'_

Maccadam stood up roughly. "Get out," He demanded. The Fledgling's expression changed from joy to confusion.

"Wait, what? Why?"

"I said get out!" Maccadam grabbed the young bot by the arm and literally dragged him across the floor to the door.

The Fledgling objected the rough treatment and expressed his discomfort with cursing and flailing. Maccadam ignored him and tossed him out of the door.

The red mech caught himself with his forearms before landing face first on the grimy cold ground. His legs went up in the air as he skidded a few feet before they flopped behind him.

In a disoriented state, he slowly sat up and turned to face Maccadam who was standing in the Bar's doorway like a big intimidating giant (which he was). His daze evolved to irritation. "What was that for you cranky old..?" The word's died in his vocalizer as he caught the piercing, green gaze of the elder.

"You better never come here again! You hear me!" Maccadam raged. The poor youngster looked like a deer caught in the headlights obviously confused and frightened by what was happening. "A twin," he scoffed in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what you could do coming to this place?! Do have any idea what you could have possibly done to space and time if you both were here at the same time!?" His emerald colored optics flared with a frightening light.

The red mech was beginning to shake and his ventilators sped up to soft hiccups.

"What, what are you talking about?" he babbled unable to wrap his CPU around what was happening.

Maccadam realized that he probably sounded like a ranting old coot at this point, but he didn't really care. He had been careless and it almost cost him. He let his systems cool some and regarded the trembling kid at the tavern's steps.

Even though he acted like a cheeky brat, the red bot was still obviously a fledgling. A child. And his true colors, naivety and confusion, were clearly shining through at that moment. He was terrified.

And he had no idea on why.

But it was simple really.

Because he was a twin.

Twins were a complex topic on Cybertron. It seemed that a true pair of twins, two who shared part of the same spark, could only happen one set at a time, and you would never have more then one pair of twins existing on Cybertron at the same time. It just didn't happen. That alone was considered strange.

But there was another thing about twins that very few Cybertronians knew about them and it regarded the folk lore of old. In fact, only those who existed before Cybertron itself knew what twins alluded to and what they could do.

"Boy," Maccadam said with a strained calmness, "you'll thank me for this in the long run. You may not understand why, and it's better if you never do, but I want you to get your aft out of here and never come back. Do you hear me? I had better never see your face around these parts again. Go find your brother, and go far away from Acerbinox."

The young bot stood up on shaky legs, still in a haze about what was going on, but he complied with the order.

He staggered back.

Then he began to walk away.

Then he started to jog.

The jog became a full out run.

Maccadam watched as the youth disappeared into the darkness of the puzzle like city, hopefully never to return.

When he was gone Maccadam let out a sigh.

That had been close. Too close.

"Primus, what the hell is happening?" He asked the sky.

For the twins, the only ones that existed on the whole of Cybertron, to find the nexus was a bad sign, and he barely avoided what could have been a really bad catastrophe.

But that was his job after all. Avoiding said catastrophes.

It was his job as one of the original thirteen created by Primus.

"Vector Prime, you are going to have an absolute field day if what I think is happening is actually happening." He mumbled to himself before stalking back into his bar, locking the doors behind him.

Twins. He shook his head in disbelief.

Maccadam should've realized it. He should've sensed the connection.

Cybertronian twins were special in what they symbolized.

Because Primus and Unicron had been twins as well.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

And so it begins: The first chapter. Are you all confused yet? Mwahahaha. All will be explained.

Dear lord, what was I thinking? This is going to be an interesting yet difficult story to tackle and will probably progress slowly.

Still, what did you think?

This was written because quite frankly, I was not happy with the animated transformers movie. I first watched it with my uncle when I was seven and at the time I knew diddly squat about transformers. Then I began to get into the series via video tapes and Youtube so I decided to re watch it.

What. The. Hell?

Not a happy camper was I.

Anyway, cookies to anyone who knows where any of the characters are from originally.

Beware for this story is character heavy.

Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Flames are used for Marshmallows.


	2. prologue pt2

Thanks for the reviews! You guys are awesome!

Most of the mechs here are canon.

Don't own. Plot and plot devices are mine.

On with the fic!

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The red Fledgling kept running, intent on getting far away from the crazy old bar tender as possible.

What had he done wrong? Why did the old mech freak on him like that? Was it really that bad for him to be in the bar? Sure he was underage but the way he had been booted out onto the street seemed harsh.

And it was just because he had a twin brother.

Speaking of which the farther he ran from the old bar, the more acutely he could feel his brother's energy field, only this time it was really him. And that's when he saw him.

A dull glimmer of gold shimmered off in the distance and the Red Fledgling recognized it at once.

A handsome face identical to his, a body form similar enough as well only gold with complimentary accents of black here and there, the same exact shade of violet blue optics that held a pleasant light behind them, and a black helm with fin like protrusions on both sides that framed his face perfectly.

His twin.

The other stood where he was with a knowing expression on his attractive face as the red one caught up to him. He had sensed the other coming and had waited patiently for him to arrive.

The red one halted in front of his brother. Neither spoke a word. They simply smiled and enjoyed the others presence.

Until the gold one smacked the red one upside the head.

"OW! What the hell was that for you fragger?!"

"For being an idiot," Yellow hissed out slowly.

"Like a bunch of seekers attacking us and us getting separated was my fault." The red fledgling grumbled, rubbing the sore spot on his face.

The gold one glared but then his ornery look melted into one of relief. The red twin caught on and smiled as well.

"There ya are!" A new figure skidded onto the scene. "Sweet Primus! This city was a bitch to solve! I never would've found yous two if we never installed those tracker chips in ya!"

The twins snapped their heads in the newcomer's direction.

She was a dark red and silver femmebot who was a bit sturdier built then your average femme. If it wasn't for her sleeker thighs, slimmer waist, and delicate face one could mistake her for a mech. Her red helmet had two metal fin protrusions giving the effect of high pigtails and her light blue optics were hidden behind a visor.

"Vibes?" The gold one spoke.

"Where dijya two go! I was worried sick! Yous were supposed ta stay wit' me, recall?" she scolded the fledglings. They both smiled but the red fledgling's optics widened.

"Vibes! Your side!" he pointed in concern.

The femme's right side panel had been torn off and was leaking profusely. She looked down as if just noticing it.

She and the other overseers had been severely outnumbered by the Cons. She was lucky to have gotten out alive at all.

"Hey, no worries, Red." She grinned and covered the wound with one of her hands. "It's just a scratch. I'm fine. But ya don't need ta worry 'bout an old femme like me. We've gotta get you Fledglins to somewhere safer then here. Can't let those nasty cons get a holda you two like they did the others. I won't let them."

She was so relieved to have found them both in one piece. She knew the Decepticons had been trolling around the city looking for them along with any of the other Fledglings they were transporting to Iacon, but since they were in a neutral zone she couldn't tell who was an enemy or a neutral. That made things all the more dangerous.

The twins shared a look of uncertainty and then looked to the femme. "Vibes, what is going on?"

"Follow me and I'll explain things. Keep up though." She began walking briskly and the twins followed close behind. Even though the two were much, much younger they were both taller then the red femme and could keep up easily.

"What's going on, Vibes? I thought we were just moving to a new facility in Iacon," The Gold one asked in confusion.

"We was but the 'Cons are tryin' ta go after yous and the other youngins now. Get um dead before they get old enough ta shoot a gun. And you two are real special." as she walked she reached up cupped the golden ones cheek lovingly as a mother would and continued, "Because ya both are real fighters. Real warriors commissioned for this war. Unlike the rest of us labor bots in warrior's armor. Ya both were built for the fight."

"They're after us?" Red asked, puzzled.

"Yessum. Those nasty cons are after yous. They knew we was gonna move ya and the other eight. Caught us unsuspecting. Never would've guessed they'd attack in a neutral zone. Shoulda known those underhanded glitches would kick us below the belt." Her pace sped up slightly.

The twins thought back to the chaos earlier. They had been in a carrier with eight other fledglings. The twins had been playing a game of craters and carnage when suddenly the carrier was violently shoved and flipped on its side. After much confusion the Fledglings inside were able to get out.

There was yelling and chaos. Tremors, lights and smoke engulfed the area around them. The overseers began panicking and yelling, pulling and shoving the young bots around. And when the smoke had cleared neither of the twins knew where they were or where the other was.

"Where are the others?" Gold questioned curiously.

With out missing a beat Vibes answered, "Pro'lly all dead. The seekers got most of um anyway."

"Oh." Neither of the twins reacted much and the femme expected they wouldn't. Those two never got close to anyone at the facility. In fact they just about loathed everyone there.

Every one except her anyways. She had treated the twins with kindness since their first day sparked. Even if they never opened up entirely to her, and even though she never really was let into their special world of 'only us', she knew that just being accepted by the twins was a monumental status and was happy for just that.

They had grown on her. They really had. There was something special about the two. She could feel it.

But she knew there was something bad about them as well. What it was she couldn't fathom. What could possibly be wrong with innocent Fledglings, ones too young to grasp the concept of good and evil?

Regardless, when ever she was around them there was that sinking feeling; an extra bit of trepidation so she was slightly cautious when in their presences.

Perhaps it was because of what they were built to be.

Perfect, cold-blooded warriors, that's what they would become. At least that's what she told herself, but for some reason she could not convince herself that that was the reason she got the chills around them some times.

"Your creators tol' me ta go after yous two and bring ya both to them, but that'll be your deaths. No, I gotta get ya both to some where safer. I need ta get ya ta Magnus an' Ironhide. They caught my distress signals and're in the area."

The twin's faces brightened at the news. They wouldn't have to go back to their creators...

Vibes quickened her step slightly again.

The fins on her head were not just for decoration. They were abnormally sensitive audio receivers. Most sounds mechs heard that they just shrugged off as white noise she could hear perfectly and lucidly clear.

And in the distance she caught the faint but unique sound of seeker engines. They were closing in their position.

"I don't want ya both to panic but the seekers are on our tail. Take a left here." She took a sharp turn and began pulling something out of subspace, a rifle.

The twins spared glances over their shoulders. Off in the distance several tetrajets were arriving at high speeds. The Decepticons would be upon them in less then moments.

"Dun worry about it ya two. I always keep ta my word. Those nasty Decepticons won't lay a finger on either of ya. Get behind me." The twins did what she said.

The twins were warriors. They, in the breif time they had been alive, had already started their harsh training. But they weren't ready to fight. They still had their childlike mentallities and even though they were advancing much faster in their combat training then the average mech they wouldn't last a breem against the Decepticon forces.

The Decepticons who were _all_ warriors.

"Ya both were supposed to get your names when we got ta Iacon. I dunno know if thas gonna happen now though." Vibes shoved ammo into the cartridge of her gun as she backed up. The twins backed hesitantly behind her.

"Vibes," the Red one had a painfilled tone. Not for himself though. It was for the femme. As if he could sense what she was about to do.

"So how would'ya like it if I named you both?" Her optics sparkled beneath her visor. The twins gave her weak smiles, but they faded when the femme cocked her rifle.

Vibes already knew what names they were going to receive when they got to Iacon and decided to completely ignore them, just to spite the twins head creators. She never liked those fraggers and naming the brothers herself was one last way to take a shot at them.

"I had two wonderful friends back in the ol' days before the fightin' got real bad... One a them was Sunrunner." A fond smile played across her lips but her back was turned to the twins and they couldn't see it. "He reminded me of ya, Gold. He was a pretty boy and one-a the only flyers we Autobots had. What a sweet sweet kid 'e was even if 'is ego was bigger then Cybertron. Flyers tend ta be that way."

The gold one didn't know if he should've been flattered or insulted.

"Sunstreaker." She spoke confidentally with her choice, "That'll be your name."

She then set her attentions to the red one.

"And you, Crimson... I had a bud back on Cybertron. He was a punk speedster like ya and 'e had one helluva sense of humor. His one lil quirk was 'is obsession wit' red vehicles ironically enough. Thas how we met ya know. He digged my red armor but after me rejectin' 'im enough he gave up an we became good friends. He woulda liked you." She paused. "So le's call ya Sideswipe."

"Sunstreaker?" Sideswipe asked looking at his brother.

"Sideswipe." Sunstreaker answered back.

"Now both of you get!" She fired hiting one of the appraoching tetrajets. Her blast clipped it's wing and it lost control and crashed into the seeker next to it. "Get as far away from here as you can!"

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe just stood there.

"I SAID MOVE!"

The two hesitantly broke into a run. And the femme began firing at the seekers.

She was able tosnipe two of them before they landed and attacked.

She was outnumbered 12 to one. It didn't seem like she was going to get out of this one.

She backed up with her gun raised high as they circled her. One of them, a grey and black standard designed seeker who had headed the formation, raised both hands and walked toward her with seemingly peaceful intentions.

"Autobot femme! Lay down you're weapons and surrender! We have no interests in you." The seeker's tone was serious, and strangely honest considering it was a Decepticon speaking.

Vibes snapped off a clean shot hitting the seeker in the throat. He gurgled and toppled over. "You ain't never gonna get those youngins, and the only time you'll see um is when they're old enough to beat the slag outa ya'll!"

Before the green seeker ever hit the ground the other flyers began firing at her. Her armor was decimated under the heavy artillerly, and she was forced to drop to her knees .

"Give it up, Autowench! How about we rip those fins off your head and shove him into your vocal processors!" One of them sneered. "There is no way you can take us all on. Surrender!"

"Tha's true I suppose." She smiled, energon bubbling from her lips and various wounds. "But I can't just go up and surrender. It's just like I always told ya my lil' Jazzypop: if ya don't do it wit' style, dun bother doin' it at all." She weakly removed the panels that covered her wrists revealing not only the wiring but also tiny blue orbs that were inbedded there. She reached and touched both of the bead like objects lightly with her fingertips causing them to glow.

"Have you had enough femme?!" One of the seekers called out.

Vibes turned slowly lifted her self so she was sitting on her haunches. She rested her forearms on her legs so that her palms were facing up. From each of her wrists there was a sparkle of blue light.

She gave a bright, joyful grin, opened her outh and said, "Self destruct sequence initiated."

And then there was just light.

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In the distance a small band of autobots looked up when they saw smoke plumes lift into the air and debris clatter around them. It was raining armor shards and seeker components.

They had been tracing the signal of one of there own. But the signal cut off and simply disapeared.

"Please dun tell me that was what I think it was," Ironhide groaned.

Not moments after he said that a transparent blue object came sailing out of the sky landing with a clatter at their feat.

It was a crystal blue visor. There were small hairline cracks running through part of it but the damage would be repairable. Unlike it's owner.

Ironhide walked resolutely in front of the group of Autobots and picked up the visor sadly.

"Autobot Ironhide to Prowl." He activated his comline.

"_What is it Ironhide?"_

"I have some bad news yer gonna have to tell Jazz."

"..._What?"_

"I think his creator, Vibes, just has just been killed in action."

0000000000000

Even farther off in the distance the twins stopped running long enough to listen to the exsplosion that sounded off.

0000000000000

From his bar Maccadam had heard the reverbration of the explosion but he had higher concerns.

**Sending Pulsewave.**

**Pulswave receiving...**

"_Vector Prime. This is Maccadum. Do you copy?"_

"_Maccadum?"_

"_Look, I have some bad news-"_

"_I know! It is already happening..." _silence.

"_Vector?"_

"_Just hang on- No, Not another. I can not keep up with this!"_

"_What's going on?"_

"_The strings of time are unraveling! The binds on the individuals of each demensions are loosening. Things that should never come into contact are crossing with eachother!"_

"_I have no idea what the hell you just said."_

"_It is the realities! The realities are collapsing on each other! Holes are being created in the walls that separate the dimensions and things that should not ever come together are leaking through the holes! I am doing my best to repair the tears in space and time but everything is happening too fast. I can not keep up."_

Groan_. "Damn, I'm sorry Vector. I didn't act quick enough to get the twin brat out."_

"_Do not be. This folly was not your doing at all. This is all an unavoidable incident that would occur sooner or later. We knew this would happen. If anything you prevented this from happening for a while longer."_

"_It would have been nice if we could've prevented the damn thing completely."_

"_I agree with your sentiments entirely. However we could not and we must deal with this as best we can. The source of these rips are in your dimension but in your time they do not occur until far off in the future. I am repairing what I can. Liege Maximo is helping me with some of the damage but his help only goes so far."_

"_LIEGE!? What the _hell_ are you doing working with that nameless, greasy FRAGGER! Do you remember what he did to Primon and Prima!?"_

"_Maccadam, I understand your concern but Leige is as much one of us as the others. He is needed to complete the balance. Good can not exist without evil. That is the law of existance: chaos and order. You know this Maccadum."_

"_Doesn't mean I have to like the green bastard any."_

"_He knows his duty as one of the original made by Primus. Your concerns are unesesarry."_

"_I still hate him. Are any of the others helping with dimensional repair?"_

"_I sent __Breakaway back into the past 4.4 billion years on the planet where the problems began. He is trying to alleviate some of the damage at the source, but he has run into some complications..."_

"_Wow. That was awfully Jerkish of you to do. You know he can't sit still for more then a breem without getting stir crazy. Are you still pissed at him because he-"_

"_Now is not the time to revisist old qualms. We have to work fast or reallity as we know it will be destroyed by the Harbringer of Destruction."_

"_Well shoot. Unicron is finally on the move and it seems like he means business this time. Instead of one dimension at a time he's trying to destroy everything at once."_

"_Not only that but his heralds will be a problem no doubt."_

"_You mean the Fallen?"_

"_Not just Fallen. There are two others who are much more of a concern. And I'm afraid one of them, a clone and that is all I know about this partcular being, is on the move right now."_

"_Well ain't that just wonderful. What are we going to do now?"_

"_I do not know."_

"_That helps a load."_

"_You have come into contact with one of the twins. They, much like us, are multiversal singularities and only exist in one place and one dimension at a time. Due to the laws of Space and Time I am not allow to reveal the exact past or the exact future of any dimensison, but I can bend the rules just slightly by giving you a time frame in whence things shall occur. Maccadum, you have little over four and a five and a half million years before any of this begins in your dimension. You have time to prepare to give us the upper hand. Do with this information what you will."_

"_Joy. I'm in charge of the brats now."_

"_You, Maccadam, are the keeper of the living. You do your job well. These events are part of the reason we were created."_

"_And also the reason I tried to retire."_

"_Alpha Trion is in your dimension as well. He will be a great aide if you simply call upon him."_

"_Last time that moocher was here he drank all my booze."_

"_I have to go. The rips are getting worse. Things are beginning to fall through into the rift's source. I bid you good luck and pray that the One is on our side. Remember, Maccadam. 'Til all are one."_

**Transmission ended.**

"Yeah. 'Til all are one old friend." Maccadum whispered sadly. "So I have 5.5 million years to act." He looked up. His gaze drifted over his bar. "Stupid brat. Stupid _twin _brat. Primus... Primus! What were you thinking?"

Maccadum grabbed one of his stronger brews, Praxus brand energon, from under his counter and slumped to the floor. He cracked the lid off with his dental plates and chugged down a good half of the stinging orange liquid. His green optics flashed brightly with the breif charge.

"What was it I heard you say one time, Vector?" Maccadam tilted his head back and let it rest on the wall behind him. He let both of his arms rest on his knees. "Right. It was, quote, 'We are the 13, the first, the forgotten, each of us serving a function vital to the survival of the universe. Each of us designated a Prime and given a function to serve during the long march of infinity.' What a load that is. Four of us are already dead and another one of us decided to abandon Primus for the enemy." Maccadam drank from his bottle and downed the rest of the tart energon.

When the multiverses were at stake 5.5 million years were not a long time.

Not a long time at all.

Maccadam sighed.

"I hate my job."

And 5.5 million years came and went eventually

And things began at a small insignificant blue planet: Earth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Cookies to anyone who knows where any of the characters are from originally.

Beware for this story is character heavy.

Reviews are loved. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Flames are used for Marshmallows.


	3. Yucca

Thank you for the reviews! And cookies for the people who guessed where the mechs were from!

Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will. Swerve is a canon bot from G1. I did not make him up. However the plot and plot devices are mine.

On with the fic.

0000000000

_A few million years later…_

_"Are you clear on your assignment Sideswipe?"_ Prowl's voice carried clear and sharp over the com-line.

"Yup," Sideswipe answered blithely. "Clear as mud."

_"We've been over this already. Twice. What is that you don't understand?"_ Prowl said in complete deadpan. If he was annoyed, which he was, his voice sure didn't show it. Sideswipe could just picture the tactician's harshly, sober expression in all of its dry glory.

"We're guarding a mountain." Sideswipe relayed to the com link in this arm.

_"Yes you are. A hollow mountain that has 2,500 metric tons, soon to be 72,000 metric tons, of spent nuclear reactor fuel and other nuclear wastes stored inside of it."_There was Prowl's ever so insipid personality shining through again. He had this amazing ability to make you feel stupid even when you had a logical dispute against him. Heck, he one upped Perceptor in something about _science_ before.

The dude could be scary.

"I get that part," Sideswipe responded just as dully. He was used to Prowl and developed immunity to his "I know all" persona. Sort of how he developed a resistance against his own brother's nagging about cleaning his half of the room. He was a slob and proud, gosh darn it!

_"Then what am I saying that you do not seem to be able to understand?"_ Prowl asked slowly, snapping Sideswipe's thoughts out of his mind's digression.

"The mountain is called 'Yucka'." Sideswipe said quickly. The line went dead for a brief moment. Not really time-consuming enough to be a pause but long enough to know that he had sent Prowl for minor loop.

_"Yucca,"_ Prowl corrected after the barely discernible silence.

"Yucka, Yucca. Whatever. That's not the issue."

_"Then what is wrong with you?"_

With his superior's attention, the red mech decided to begin rant the first. "First off I'm pissed because I just got done pulling doubles and was called in for emergency action because some humans were stupid enough to advertise the fact that they are moving thousands of pounds worth of missile grade fuel in and out of the mountain when they _know _Decepticons are monitoring their media for this crap."

_"Just because we are here on their planet doesn't mean we can control or obstruct their daily Terren politics and economics, Sideswipe. We are the ones infringing on their territory and it is their right to go on, function and run their planet as they please no matter how…unwise the decisions or circumstance may be at the time." _Did Sideswipe detect the faintest hint of exasperation in the Datsun's voice? Probably not. You got more emotion out of Soundwave on a bad day then you would out of Prowl when he was trying to prove that you had no idea what you were talking about.

So in response Sideswipe started his second tirade. "Because of said Mountain, right now I am currently standing here with three mechs. One of which I do not understand what comes out of his vocals half the time, one which I swear must siphoning impure energon into his systems because that's the only way someone could possibly be that laid back, and one mech who hates my inner fluids simply because I function. And not one of them, _not one_, is made for battle or particularly good at fighting. So basically that means I'm playing bodyguard and if there is an attack, which knowing old bell head there will be, I am essentially by myself."

_"I don't recall Swerve having any grudges against you,"_ Prowl said rather coldly considering the emotionless prick he was being.

"He hates me because when _he_ got distracted by a bird he saw while driving on I4 in Florida, and _he_ ended up spinning out of control, instead of catching him in a head long collision I let him run himself into a swamp…and laughed. It was funny."

_"You'll have to put up with him. He's the only metallurgist we had access to and we need him to check for canister leaks. Radiation can affect us too and it's very difficult to get rid of. We don't want to become hazards to the humans," _Prowl supplied.

"I don't even know where the little bastard came from! He was just here one day!" Sideswipe hadn't caught anything Prowl had said.

_"We requested him from Cybertron."_

"Well he can get stepped on by Trypticon for all I care." The line went silent.

_"What was the purpose of calling me and complaining?"_ came Prowl's exasperated voice.

"They are driving me insane. All they're doing is standing around talking about MOX, seismic junk and emissions. What is MOX?"

_"They are driving you insane by…doing their jobs?"_

"Yes!"

Ah. And the truth is revealed.

_"…You're bored and you want Sunstreaker."_

"Oh please send him Prowl. I can't stand all this sciency stuff. I need amusement!"

_"No. We need him at the outer perimeter. I'm sure you can survive a few hours without your brother."_

Dangit. Might as well go for the next best thing.

"Then can I have Brawn? Please?"

_"Unless you want to carry nuclear waste canisters four times your weight Brawn is going to stay on transport."_

"Skyfire?"

_"He's patrolling the secondary perimeter by air."_

"Bluestreak?"

_"He's back at the base."_

"Blasphemy!" Sideswipe cried.

_"Stop being melodramatic. There is a word in one of Earth's languages, Chinese I believe, which I think is appropriate for right now. It's pronounced chi ku and it roughly translates to 'eating bitter' in English. In simpler terms, deal with it. You have distracted me from my job long enough anyway."_

"You're doing this on purpose," Sideswipe whined halfheartedly.

_"Despite what you seemed to have convinced yourself, when I split up the teams and assign mechs in certain places I have actual reasons for it that are not simply 'Make Sideswipe's life miserable'. We are making perimeters. If Decepticons do indeed attack I find it highly unlikely that they'll be able to break through three defense lines and even get to you. The only reason you're there is as a precaution while Perceptor, Trailbreaker and Swerve analyze the hanger for possible dangers."_

"But every time Swerve sees me he gives me the look."

_"What look?"_

"The one that's a cheap knock off of Sunny's 'I'm going to eviscerate you' look."

_"He barely comes up to your knee."_

"Fine, Prowl. But if the little twerp attacks me I'm not responsible for any damages caused to his person."

Bzzzp. "…."

"Prowl? Prowl?" No response. He tried sharpening the frequency of the link but received white noise. "You hung up on me you officious jerk." Sideswipe probably wouldn't have said that directly to Prowl if Prowl had been actually listening. Last time he let an insult slip he was stuck assigned to _Wheeljack_. Wheeljack while he was in the inventing mood, the same inventing mood that normally resulted in a Code Yellow hazmat alarm.

Sideswipe did a quick calculation in his head and guessed that he had lost over a third of his armor's mass that day before they got the thermite to stop burning.

If one good thing came out of the incident, it probably was getting to see Ratchet lay into Wheeljack _and Prowl_at the same time. Wheeljack for his lack of common sense and Prowl for putting Sideswipe in a possibly dangerous situation (Ratchet was actually nice to Sideswipe that day. Sideswipe would've thought it was the apocalypse but Ratchet had him on so many neural buffers for the pain he had been as clear minded as a swamp).

Regardless, it had been awesome. Being completely berth ridden for half a week to recuperate had been so worth it. And he got out of roster duty that whole time too.

But there was nothing getting him out of his assignment this time.

The year was approximately 1987 and the United States Congress had amended the Nuclear Waste Policy Act. AKA the "Lets dump all of our radioactive material in a hollow mountain! Energy crazy Decepticons are looming nearby? Pshaw, what do you think you Autobots are for! " plan.

Stupid humans. Stupid, stupid humans.

It had been three years since they had woken from the Ark accident and even in that time, which Sideswipe supposed was not actually a long time in comparison to their own life spans, they were still being reduced to fleshing guards and over glorified delivery boys.

Never mind. That statement should be corrected. They were delivery boys and guards for _nuclear waste_.

Sideswipe hated nuclear anything because of the radiation. It was like how humans viewed eating coconut. If they ate a little then they'd have the chewy, organic pulp in their calcium based dental plates for weeks. The problem with nuclear radiation in association to mechanical beings was the fact that if exposed, the radiation would be trapped in the metal plating of a mech for years.

Unless you were like Skyfire and had shielding for things like that, had a lead alloy embedded in your chassis or had Ratchet completely overhaul your system to purge the unstable emissions.

Sideswipe was not like Skyfire, did not have radioactive plating protection or lead alloy in his system (Lead was crude at best anyways) and did not like the prospect of being a walking bio-hazard. Also radiation made his systems fuzzy and, based from past experience, it made him hallucinate.

So there was the radiation aspect he did not enjoy and then there was the fact that he was teamed with two dull mechs and a gremlin (who kept looking over his shoulder to give Sideswipe the stink eye).

Oh. And he was bored. Gosh he hated being bored. And he had nothing to remedy it. Not even his brother. But that wasn't really much of a surprise. Despite their familial relationship they probably only went on little over then half of the same missions.

Maybe he could try talking to his brother directly. He was just about to open their private line when…

"Sideswipe? Are you alright?" The Lambo halted his message and focused his hearing onto the light, articulate voice behind him. He pivoted sharply and turned to face the source.

"I'm fine Percy. What's up?" Sideswipe asked rather kindly actually, but despite that the scientist flinched slightly. The red and white bot probably didn't even realize he did either. It was a reflex a lot of mech's developed around the twins and Sideswipe had to admit, if he was Perceptor he'd be a bit bothered too. The overly nice guy act was a little awkward coming from himself.

Sideswipe should have glared, could have some snarky comment or would have acted like a general jerk as he would in that situation sometimes, but he just wasn't in the mood to be an asshole. He was suffering from sibling withdrawal and was bored almost to the point of lethargy. That and Sideswipe had no real problems with Perceptor in comparison to some other mechs. He was an honestly good mech and he had a nice voice. The kind that had a certain eloquent and earnestly interested sound in it that was nice to listen to…If you wanted to fall into recharge.

"You had a rather distracted look across your face. Is something bothering you?" The small scientist asked with actual concern, as if completely unaware of the reflexive unease he had shown not 30 seconds before.

"No. I was just spacing out," Sideswipe answered truthfully.

"Oh, well if you are sure. I was sent to retrieve you. We are done with this portion of the cavern and are moving onto the B block."

"Kay," Sideswipe answered resignedly.

Sideswipe followed Perceptor further into the monstrous, hollow bowels of the big mountain.

And when Sideswipe said big, he meant big. Even by Cybertronian measures. The mountain was several hundred feet tall and the insides had been carved out. The rock that made the cavern's walls was reddish color, probably some kind of volcanic material. It was dark inside the mountain with minimal pale lighting that was rather depressing for some reason.

As they walked, there was silence for all about three seconds before Perceptor began one of his long, flowerily spoken lectures.

Man, Bluestreak had nothing on Perceptor when it came to incessant talking. Sideswipe had a theory that there was so much information in Perceptor's processor that the genius had to relieve the pressure of his thoughts by filtering the info out of his mouth and onto other unsuspecting mechs so his own head wouldn't implode.

"The humans are going to convert a large portion of their nuclear waste into mixed oxide fuel so that not only will the Uranium be incapable of being used in weapons technology but will also be able to be reused in their breeder nuclear power plants. Not only does that assist in solving their nuclear proliferation issues but it also helps them with their growing energy crisis."

Sideswipe had no idea what proliferation meant.

"It's a bit of a crude method but it's amazing how quickly they are progressing considering how short a time they have been on this planet. They are quite the astute species at moments. I'd say that a great number of them are very perspicacious thinkers when it comes to their global issues, though sadly this is not the case when viewing them as a whole."

Sideswipe wasn't sure he knew what perspicacious meant either.

And then Perceptor went off about some called coprecipitation "A mixture of uranyl nitrate and plutonium nitrate in nitric acid that is converted by treatment with a base such as ammonia to form a mixture…"

Sideswipe figured that the microscope transformer wasn't going to get anymore comprehensible then he already wasn't and tuned him out like a bad radio station not long after.

They reached where Trailbreaker was but Sideswipe didn't see Swerve anywhere. Perhaps he got crushed under a canister. At least Sideswipe hoped fervently that's what happened.

"Hey, Brute! Get over here!" a surprisingly loud and gruff voice boomed from behind one of the massive canisters. A red a white minibot stomped from behind one of the cylinders and glared.

'_Well there's the shrimp.'_

(You could just squash him you know.) A little voice suggested in the back of Sideswipe's mind. He ignored it. Listening to it normally resulted in bad things anyway.

Instead Sideswipe put on an almost sickly sweet smile and replied, "Bite me you lousy little parasite."

"Don't give me attitude you lout. Lift this canister up. I think that the metal underneath of it is too thin to be safe for radiation concealment."

"Meaning?" Sideswipe prodded.

"A leak."

"You're telling me that even though they pack that slag in military grade concrete and reinforced steel there's actually a leak?"

"Won't know for sure until I can see it properly."

"You're the metal science guy. Why can't you do it?" Sideswipe did not feel like becoming irradiated.

"That's why your useless aft is here." The tiny red and white minibot growled and it almost sounded feral.

"I'm the body guard. You know the guy who keeps you from being dead when the Decepticons attack. Not your grunt monkey. Do it yourself." The Lamborghini smirked and folded his arms over.

"Quit whining you Brat." Sideswipe's smile withered into a straight tight line.

"Don't call me a Brat."

"I'll call you whatever I feel like calling you, you Brat."

'_Well since you don't have a name I'll call you a brat all I want, Brat.'_

Sideswipe clenched and unclenched his fists in a nervous twitch. He wasn't sure why but that was the straw that broke the camels back. And that was saying something because he generally had a lot more patience then that.

He hated being called a brat. Didn't know why, but that was the one thing that could set him off relatively easily if he didn't keep his anger in check.

Unfortunately for Swerve Sideswipe didn't want to keep his anger in check. _'That's it. Screw Prowl.'_

He curled his hand in a tight fist and drew it back.

Trailbreaker reacted but he was too far away. "W-wait!"

Sideswipe launched the punch.

And then the mountain shook.

It was enough to throw Sideswipe off balance and off his line of fire. His fist sailed past Swerve and the tall mech had to pinwheel his arms in an almost comical fashion before regaining his balance.

The four mechs stood in unease for a brief moment before the hanger shook violently again. Loose earth from the cavern's ceiling crumbled and showered on them in small clouds of dust and rock.

"What in the name of Cybertron!" Came Perceptor's indignant voice. The poor scientist had been knocked clear off his feet. He ducked his head under his arms just as another cloud of debris dropped over them when another boom resonated through the cavern. "It must be the Decepticons."

The expression on Sideswipe's face at first was unreadable. Then he jumped to his feet and with unbridled glee streaked toward the exit of the cavern leaving three befuddled mechs in his dust

"WHOO! FINALLY! Thank you, Megatron!"

He was stared after by the three unmoving bots.

"I still think Prime should listen to me and melt him down into hubcaps." Swerve sneered.

Perceptor sent him a little glare.

"Well, while Sideswipe is off giving Decepticons the one four we aught to keep on with securing this hanger, guys," Trailbreaker said.

He was right.

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So, the Decepticons were attacking.

It was inevitable really. They were like vultures when it came to energy. And what better way to get it then from a nuclear source?

One nuclear pellet had thousands of times more energy then coal or oil was capable of. It was in high abundance and could create innumerable amounts of energon cubes. It was ideal.

But it had draw backs.

It was unstable. If the Decepticons tore haphazardly through the canisters stored within the mountains hollow core and broke their concrete and steel prisons, the radiation would break free and wash over the land in destructive, invisible waves.

It would cause a nuclear fallout large enough to cover the globe.

For crying out loud not more then a year ago on the 26th April, 1986 there had been a nuclear meltdown at Chernobyl. That was just_ one_ Nuclear plant and the nuclear radiation from that spread across most of Europe.

Now here in Yucca they had the waste of over a hundred plants around the world. And it was all unstable.

And the Decepticons were fraking _firebombing_ them.

Both Prime and Prowl evaluated the Situation. It was bad. "We have to drive them back. Prowl, Call Perceptor, and Swerve to seal the entrance and have Trailbreaker place a force field around the core perimeter of the waste." Optimus charged his rifle.

"Will Trailbreaker have enough energon for a force field that big?" Prowl questioned.

"If worse comes to worst he can siphon some of the nuclear energy for a boost. Then have Sideswipe stay in the immediate area. Send him back up. We should concentrate our forces to create a defense at the source." Prime charged his ion Blaster. "I'll try to buy you time. I'm counting on you, Prowl." And then the commander of the Autobots himself charged into the chaotic fray of laser fire and carnage.

"Yes, Prime." Prowl opened his radio frequency and called the microscope transformer.

_"Prowl?" _It was Perceptor.

"I have orders for you, Swerve, Trailbreaker and Sideswipe-"

_"The idiot's not here!"_ Swerve's gruff voice yelled from over the connection. Prowl went tight-lipped.

"What?" He finally hissed through clenched dental plating.

_" He ran off somewhere when the mountain shook," _Trailbreaker added hesitantly.

_"I'm sure he had a logical reason for running off…" _Perceptor started nervously.

That idiot! But there was no time to worry about the Lamborghini warrior.

"Never mind! We'll just have to work around that! These are your orders…"

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Sunstreaker was in a good mood.

Well, he_ had_ been in a good mood.

And then that's when the seekers began dropping explosive shells on his head.

That part didn't bother him that much. Explosive shells weren't that bad as soon as you learned to listen for them. Then they were pretty easy to avoid. What pissed him off was his own brother.

The red retard shot out of nowhere like a bat out of hell, streaked across the battle field while narrowly avoiding being riddled with laser fire holes, launched himself in the air and drop-kicked Dirge in the face.

Sunstreaker didn't mind that. He thought it was funny. What annoyed him was the fact that Sideswipe, so busy grinning like an idiot at Dirge in pain, did not realize that, not one of the Constructicons mind you, but _Devastator_ walked right up behind him.

How the hell do you miss something like that?!

In fact, his oblivious twin didn't know that the gestalt was even there until one of the monster bot's purple hands tightened around his chassis and he was pulled into the air kicking frantically to free himself.

Sunstreaker's reaction was delayed. He was barely paying attention to his brother, too busy with beating the living daylights out of Thundercracker, and sort of stared dumbly when he saw Sideswipe getting the life squeezed out of him.

"Little…help," Sideswipe gasped out the last part as Devastator cruelly smiled and tightened his grip. That snapped Sunstreaker into action.

"Damn it, Sideswipe, you dumb-aft!" Sunstreaker roared and charged at Devastator.

He had no idea what he was going to do against the combiner. All he knew was it would probably end up pissing off Ratchet.

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"Ratchet!"

Ratchet snapped his head back at the sound of Hound's frantic calls. After instantly locating the cry he saw the source of Hound's fear.

Mirage was on the ground with a gaping hole in his chest where the Autobot insignia had once proudly shown.

"Slag." Ratchet crossed the field in record time to reach the spy and scout. "What happened?"

"I don't know! He wasn't there! His cloaking device must've….Primus, I would have been the one to have gotten shot. He got called over by one of the Aerialbots and must've walked in front of me by accident. Primus, Mirage…"

Ratchet flipped out a spot welder from subspace and began patching up the larger leaks. "Calm down Hound. Mirage must be the luckiest unlucky mech in the world right now because it's not as bad as it looks."

"He has a fragging hole in his chest! How is that not as bad as it looks?"

"The blast hit the only place in his chest that would cause the least damage. It missed his spark box for the most part though there is a minor dent to the casing, his neural regulators are fine and his temperature regulators and coolant systems are all norm-" Ratchet didn't finish the sentence as a foreboding noise crept behind him.

The sound of whirring turbines and the smooth sound of rushing air.

Instinctively Ratchet threw himself over Mirage's body just as a bomb exploded closely behind them. Dust and debris swirled into the air and rained upon them like a choking, black rain.

Ratchet hazarded a look just in time to see Skywarp zip through the sky and vanish through a dark tear he created in the air.

"Hound. Keep the seekers away from us. Mirage might not be fatally injured but the damage is still bad. I can't repair him if I'm getting blown up by Decepticons."

"Right."

Ratchet went back to his repair job.

Where the hell was Sunstreaker! He was supposed to be in the area on call for this precise reason. So Ratchet could perform his medic duties with out getting blown up.

But the yellow bot was gone and there was nothing he could do about it now. Whatever had lured him away from the second perimeter was probably Sideswipe related. Wasn't it always?

It didn't help that Ratchet was already on edge. More so then usual, and he didn't even know why.

As a medic you had to rely on your gut feeling often. Heck, half of the medical art was dumb luck.

And his instincts were telling him something bad was going to happen. That something horrible was looming in the not to far off future, and he didn't think it was Decepticon related.

What ever it was though, it was going to be _bad._

Ratchet tied off another leaking tube with speed and precision despite the sound of laser fire drawing closer to his position.

"That idiot better have a reason for not being here," The medic groused thinking of the gold front line mech.

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Sideswipe was sparking from every joint in his arms.

His wrists, elbows and under arm joints were crackling with blue and gold electricity. His shoulder guards were crushed giving him little mobility so his limbs hung limply at his sides. The red paint on his forearm guards and across the middle of his chest plate had been scraped clean off by Devastator's rough treatment. It left a funny band of silver around his chassis in a similar fashion to a human getting a really awkward tan line.

It was a good thing he wasn't as vain as his brother or he probably would've gone into shock and then a self imposed stasis lock.

Speaking of Sunstreaker….

"YOU ARE A STUPID IDIOT!" Whoa boy. Sunny was Mad with a capital 'M', and he was taking out his anger on an already battered Hook.

Sideswipe wasn't really sure how Sunny was able to take down old Devastator. It all went by in a blur but he was sure that decapitating the Gestalt had been a major part in the others falling apart as well. And with the five beings separated, Sunny picked them all off like a wolf would to lambs.

"Stupid idiot is sort of redundant. Besides, I'm crazy not stupid. There's a difference." Sideswipe shrugged…without actually moving. He could barely move his little finger let alone his shoulders. He had the mobility squashed out of them.

Sunstreaker gave Sideswipe a look that clearly stated, _'I am going to eviscerate you.' _And it was waaaay more effective then Swerve's cheap knockoff.

"Devastator walked up behind you and you." Punch "Didn't." Crash. "_Notice_." SMASH.

Sideswipe actually winced at the last blow the nearly unconscious Constructicon received. Not that he felt bad for the guy because he didn't. He was just glad that it was a Decepticon and not himself subjected to Sunstreaker's wrath.

"He's nimble for a big guy." Sunstreaker gave a frustrated yell at Sideswipe's remark, and punched the green and purple bot so hard in the jaw it unhinged. Finally Sunstreaker dropped Hook and he landed on the ground unconscious with the rest of the Constructicons.

Sunstreaker turned on his brother with a feral look in his optics. It only served to amplify his scariness at that moment. The gold bot was scraped, scuffed, and flecked with an ample amount of glowing, blue energon and coolant (compliments of the Constructies). His hands were practically drenched in the stuff.

Sunstreaker stalked over to his injured brother and jabbed him hard in the chest plating.

"Ow! That spots tender! And you're getting Constructicon fluid on me!" Sideswipe yelled with mild irritation.

"I swear to Primus if you weren't my twin-" What ever Sunstreaker was going to say was violently cut off as a bomb exploded relatively close to their positions.

Sideswipe began falling backwards since he couldn't really use his arms to stabilize his equilibrium.

Sunstreaker reached out instinctively to catch his brother's arm to help the other regain his falling balance.

He wasn't expecting to be mildly electrocuted on contact.

Blue electricity sparked and crackled between their armor unpleasantly. Sideswipe yelped and fell backward and Sunstreaker tore his hand back to his own body before stumbling in the opposite direction a few steps.

"What the hell!" Sideswipe yelped. "You just… You shocked me!" he cried indignantly.

"No I didn't! You shocked me!" Sunstreaker retorted rubbing his hand agitatedly to help calm the erratic sensors. "What was that?"

"Static?" Sideswipe guessed. "I'm sparking from the arms."

"Static tickles at best, Sides. That…that hurt," Sunstreaker said. The two brothers stared at each other with unease. That had never happened before. They could only stand in puzzlement.

At least until the sound of a shell exploding resonated in the distance. The Decepticons were getting closer to the hanger. Sideswipe gracefully jumped to his feet.

"Well we'll worry about it later! I don't know about you but I don't think the fleshies would like a massive nuclear fallout on their planet. Radiation messes with our systems weird but you see what it does to humans. Gnarly things. I saw those World War two documentaries."

"I fragging hate radiation," Sunstreaker griped and took off after his brother.

Neither had noticed that when their hands made contact, one spark from the shock shot upwards like a shooting star.

It was the first step in a series of events that were now set in motion.

And the twins were the cause.

It went higher and higher until it was above the clouds, and when it reached that point, the tiny blue spark ripped through the sky leaving a bright, thin turquoise line suspended in the air.

It wasn't very big at first, only the width of a spider web thread. But it grew rapidly and a great flash of turquoise illuminated the sky.

No one noticed that out of the hole a small, broken figure tumbled out and began falling toward the Earth. The hole in the air shriveled up like water in a heated cast iron pan until there was no evidence of it ever being there.

Had it not been a cloudy day the whole thing would've blinded the bots and Cons thousands of feet below. Yet they hadn't seen it and were all oblivious.

Everyone except Ironhide.

The Old mech had been scoping the skies for stray seekers when he spotted the falling figure out of his peripheral vision.

At first he thought it was a Decepticon Seeker. But then he realized that it must've been a dumb seeker since it was hurtling toward the ground with out any sign of pulling up. Then he realized it was tiny, much too small to be one of the jets.

He activated his long distance sight specs and focused on the image best he could.

The figure that was hurtling through the air was a mech. If the beads of green and blue energon trailing behind him were any indication it was a badly injured mech.

Ironhide just stood there. He didn't recognize it though the figure was obviously Cybertronian. Was it an Autobot? If it was it was his duty to save him. If it was Decepticon he should just leave it to shatter on impact after its long fall. He couldn't tell what faction the mech belonged too though.

He was torn. He could do nothing. There was a 50 percent chance it was a Decepticon. But if it was an Autobot…

"Primus, Dammit!" The old bot cursed, transformed and gunned his engine. He zoomed off in the direction of the falling bot in an effort to catch it before he hit the ground.

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Of all the times to a get a call!

Optimus dropped to one knee and shielded himself from debris as one of Megatron's fusion blasts impacted not too far off.

Here he was fighting one of the most powerful and cruel tyrants in the known universe and somebody was calling him!

He would've ignored it but the beeping of his com link went on relentlessly. Also Prime started getting paranoid that perhaps one of his men was in horrible, grave danger. Was it Prowl? Had the plan gone badly?

So he answered.

"This is Prime. State your situation!" His voice came out strained as he ducked and rolled away from another explosion.

"_Oh, Optimus! How good it is to hear from you!"_ a regal, aged voice hailed him cheerily from the other end of the line.

"Alpha Trion?" Prime would've sputtered…but Primes don't sputter.

If it was a call from Alpha Trion then something must've gone wrong on Cybertron. Why else would he call?

"What's the situation on Cybertron?" Optimus asked quickly, ducking behind a large boulder while he refilled the ammo in his blaster.

"Come out, Prime!" Megatron's voice boomed. Fusion fire exploded loudly after.

Optimus sighed.

_"Situation on Cybertron? There's no situation on Cybertron,"_ Alpha Trion said with puzzlement in his voice.

"Then could you please call later? I am in the middle of something right now." Like not getting his head cleaved off by fusion explosions.

_"No, no my dear boy. I have an urgent question," _Trion started.

"Urgent?" Prime questioned.

_"Yes indeed. Did you get your new arrival yet?"_

"New arrival?" Prime yelled. "I didn't request any back up!?" Even though back up would've been nice at that particular moment… "What new arrival?"

"_I have no idea," _Alpha Trion spoke happily through the line.

"Alpha Trion, I am in the middle of a precarious battle that has millions of Terren lives on the line. Please, can you call back later?" Optimus pleaded.

"PRIME! Where are you, you worthless coward!?" Well there was Megatron again.

"_Well, no because your arrival should be there any second,_" Alpha Trion explained calmly.

"You said you didn't know who the arrival was," Prime exasperated.

_"I don't. I didn't choose him. A good friend of mine did. He may be a grouchy old bartender but he is a good judge of character_."

Prime was silent. For a brief moment. "You sent me some random Autobot that I did not request for and a bartender chose!"

_"I did not send him. It was mostly my friend who set up the exchange, and two of your own simply helped retrieve him. I'm just giving you the heads up. Well, I'll leave you to your battle."_

Prime sighed again.

"_Oh, by the way, Optimus. I never said Autobot."_ And the line went dead.

Prime stared dumbly ahead as he processed that information.

He couldn't stay imobile for long though. Megatron found him.

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It was a miracle. And absolute freaking miracle.

The Decepticons were _retreating._

Whatever reason for their retreat had been Starscream related. Prime really didn't care about what happened, only about the fact that they were gone and Earth had not suffered a nuclear fallout. Alas, good news never lasted forever.

"Prime!" Ironhide's distinctive drawl came from behind him.

"Ironhide?"

"Prime we have a problem!"

"What is it, Ironhide?" he turned to his comrade and long time friend.

"I caught 'um," Ironhide said gravely much to Prime's confusion.

In Ironhide's arms, in a bridal carry, there was an unrecognizable mech. He was unusually small, only slightly too big to be a minibot. He had primarily pine green, light silver and cobalt blue armor, and had a simple body design. He looked young, unnaturally so since Cybertronians did not have the same concept of youth as did some cultures, but his face was a tad rounder then a normal mech's and his optics were slightly larger then usual.

Also he looked like someone threw him through a blender.

His left arm was _gone _from above the elbow and the wound was spilling leaking tubes and loose wires. A chunk of his side was missing leaving a gaping hole that was leaking, still, profusely. There was a nasty crack that traveled above the small bot's right eye and ran up his rounded helm. He was riddled with cuts, gashes and scrapes some of which were flecked with beads of light green and blue energon.

A puddle of glowing blue, life fluid was forming at Ironhide's feet as well indicating that perhaps the anonymous mech had a bad injury on his back as well. It was difficult to tell.

His dark optics were nearly black. The mech looked dead.

But the slightest twitch from his surviving hand's finger indicated that was not the case.

"Primus." Optimus took a step forward. "What happened? Who is he-" Optimus cut himself short as he remembered Alpha Trion's words.

"_Did you get your new arrival yet?"_

"That's not the problem." Ironhide looked extremely uncomfortable with the mech in his arms. It was border line disgust.

"What do you…" And then Prime saw it.

On the green, battered shoulder guard of the mech was the menacing, violet symbol of the Decepticon faction.

It was _not _an Autobot.

"I saved a 'Con," Ironhide said ashamedly. "It was by accident but I saved a Decepticon!" He repeated again with woe in his voice.

Ironhide jolted with a start as the mech shifted ever so slightly in his reluctant hold. Prime stared and watched the whole scenario.

For the briefest moment a light flickered behind the stranger's large optics revealing them to be a crisp, bright red. The mech turned his head slightly and stared at Ironhide long and hard. Ironhide noticeable tensed. Prime could tell the red mech wanted to drop the Con in his arms but his morals wouldn't allow him to do that to an injured mech.

But he looked really tempted.

And then the injured Decepticon smiled, _smiled_! And with that small gesture his optics went black again and he slipped into unconsciousness.

This did not bode well.

Wordlessly Optimus activated his com line. "Ratchet," he hailed, his stare aimed blankly ahead.

_"Prime? What is it? I'm busy beating dents out of Sideswipe's armor."_

"You're not going to be happy but get over here now."

Optimus wasn't aware of it but some very horrible things had been set in motion.

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For anyone who wants to see the animated version of bits of the battle you can find them here.

www. shy-light. deviantart . com / gallery (remove the spaces) and go to the animations folder. The ones relevent to this story Melee, Ratchet on the Job and anything starting with the title 'What'. Enjoy.

Alrighty then... All will be explained in time. :3

The mech at the end is not canon. I made him up. However I need him for plot. You'll see why. But I mostly want to focus on the G1 bots for this story.

Anyway reviews loved, flames for marshmallows and cc is highly appreciated.


	4. Valence

Thanks for all the reviews!

Also I apologize for this chapter's length. It ended up so long D:

Don't own. Never will. Plot and plot devices are mine though.

On with the fic

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There was silence in the common room.

"You know what?" Trailbreaker began with a thoughtful tone, as if just coming to the conclusion of some already widespread knowledge. "We have a Decepticon in our Med bay."

"No, Really? Thanks for the info. I didn't notice the green degenerate with the large purple Decepticon insignia on his shoulder," Cliffjumper spat sounding like he had a very tenuous grasp on his temper.

Most of the bots in the Ark, minus the officers and Mirage, where having an impromptu meeting in the common room. They were all unsettled with having a Decepticon at the Ark, particularly since it was one they had never seen before. All of them, except for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe who were moping on the couch, were huddled around the table they usually used for poker nights .

"I think the real question here, my fellow mechs, is really _why _do we have a Decepticon in our medical bay in the first place?" Smokescreen inquired.

"It's because we're Autobots and as Autobot's are obligated to be moral morons," Huffer growled.

"Indeed. It's in our programming. Be kind hearted to the prisoners of war at all times, even when it comes back to bite us in the skid plate." Windcharger nodded in agreement.

"So, what now?" Trailbreaker broke the silence. "Do we keep him?"

The reaction was instantaneous and Cliffjumper jumped to his feet, appalled. "Hell no! He's a Decepticon!"

"Yeah. Why in the Well of Spark's name did we even bring that thing here in the first place? Couldn't we have just left it on the battlefield?" Slingshot wondered out loud.

"Alas, my good mech," Sideswipe piped up from his spot on the couch. "That wouldn't be kosher with the Autobot code of honor."

"But we're at _war_. It's our job to off as many 'Cons as we can! What makes this case different?!" Cliffjumper raved.

"I dunno. He's injured and Ironhide caught him. There must be some rule about it somewhere that if you save your enemy, accidentally or not, then he's stuck under your protection until either you give him back to his faction or he stabs you in the back. Whichever comes first," Skydive said softly.

"Stupid ethical code," Slingshot groused.

"Where is Ironhide anyway?" Bumblebee asked, noticing that the red mechhad basically disappeared the second they got back to the Ark.

"In the wash rack. He's trying to burn off the 'con cooties'." Smokescreen snickered.

Skids cleared his throat loudly, less because he had to and more just to get everyone's attention. "We're getting off topic again. Really, what are we going to do with our little 'guest'? I mean according to Ironhide, it-_he_ dropped out of the sky. That just speaks unusual circumstances."

"More the reason to dump him off a cliff," Inferno growled. "We don't know where it's been. Probably carryin' some kinda virus."

"Well we can't exactly slap a bow on him and drop him at the Decepticon's front door step," Skids reasoned.

"…Why not?"

"Yeah. Actually that sounds like a pretty good idea," Smokescreen agreed.

"Ya know what. He's here. We might as well use him for something useful. Like for negotiations or an exchange or something. He could be leverage I guess," Sky Dive reasoned.

Slingshot scoffed. "Right. Like the Decepticons will just drop everything they're doing for some random foot soldier of theirs. Come on. We tried doing that when we caught Starscream, their _second in command_, and they barely twitched a servo."

"Primus, don't remind me," Powerglide's voice piped up, laced with disgust. "I was one of the guys guardin' his cell. By the end we were basically _begging _Megatron to just take him back."

The Autobots began to digress off the topic of the Decepticon "Prisoner of War" they had and instead went on about the obnoxious, evils that were seekers.

Sideswipe, one who'd normally wiggle himself into the heart of the conversation, throwing in cheeky remarks and sarcastic comments, had been unusually silent, but no one had noticed. Only his brother who sat silently by his side as the others continued to argue, joke and be loud in general behind them knew something was up.

He had a bad feeling, had that bad feeling since his brother accidentally shocked him earlier the previous day actually. He just didn't know why.

"Sunstreaker?" Sideswipe whispered under his breath.

"What?" Sunstreaker replied in an equally hushed tone, ignoring the din behind them.

"I'm getting that feeling," his brother elaborated in a low voice.

"You'll have to be more specific. You get lots of feelings."

"I'm getting the one that's telling me somehow this whole thing is involuntarily our fault."

"Lots of things are involuntarily our fault," Sunstreaker chimed in coming off rather bluntly. "Still, I know what you mean. I'm getting that feeling too."

The two sat in silence.

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Optimus had been standing in front of the medical room for at least fifteen minutes, glaring at the closed entrance like it was the inanimate object's fault for everything.

"_Did you get your new arrival yet?"_

Those words would not leave Prime's processor. Ever since Alpha Trion had contacted him he had felt uneasy, and not long after that enigmatic message they had found a strange Decepticon that had fallen out of the sky.

As if his job as Prime wasn't already difficult enough, what with the ancient, intergalactic battle he had going on against the most wicked Tyrant on this half of the universe. It _only _had freedom as the Cybertronian race knew it on the line.

And then Alpha went and sent him some random mech, a Decepticon no less and Optimus didn't even know why.

Scratch that. A bartender he didn't know sent him some random Decepticon. Alpha Trion merely relayed the message.

He didn't even know _how _the green and blue mech was sent there. They weren't anywhere near a space bridge and he seemed much too injured to have gotten himself there. Alpha Trion _had _cryptically informed Optimus that two of the Prime's own soldiers assisted in delivering the mech to their area (which was something he'd have to address his troops about later.)

Optimus had tried contacting Alpha Trion to get him to explain the situation. Since a comlink didn't have a strong enough signal to reach Cybertron he had to send a pulse wave, however the older Cybertronian had yet to reply.

Prime sighed as his thoughts became more muddled.

A gruff voice dissipated said thoughts. "The Hell, Optimus? Why the frag are you just standing there?"

Prime blinked and realized that Ratchet was standing in the now opened med bay entrance. He was frantically waving his arm in front of Optimus's optics, trying to get the commander's attention.

"Hello, Ratchet," Optimus greeted calmly.

"Damn it, Prime, don't space out like that on me. I thought your cerebral circuits were freezing up again. You want me cutting into your head? Primus knows there's probably a lot of junk up there that needs cleaning out, anyway." Ratchet jabbed at his commander, though in good nature.

"Ha. And ha." Optimus gave his medic a flat look before adding a brusque, "That only happened once."

Ratchet scoffed. "That's what you got for pulling six nights in a row without rest. You should've listened to me."

"Yes. I suppose." He paused. "How's Mirage?" Optimus questioned.

Ratchet sent a distracted look back to the medical bay where the spy was, his look clearly one of exhaustion. "He's been better. It's like I told Hound though, he's one lucky sonuva bitch to have not been off-lined right then and there on the battlefield. That fusion blast hit the one spot in his chest with the least vitals, but there were still some nasty burns. I had loads of fun scrapping those out." Sarcasm dripped in his voice.

"That's excellent news." Prime nodded. It really _was_ great news. He cared a lot for _everyone _on his team, handpicked them himself even. And since being on Earth their little ragtag group of mechs had gotten even closer to each other then they had ever been before (even though the arguments and random brawls that broke out seemed to say otherwise). It was always great news to hear that the whole team had survived to see another day together.

Still, even though they hadn't lost anyone since they crashed the Ark that didn't necessarily scratch out the possibility that someone could be killed at almost any moment in battle, but that thought and concept had become more alien with every year that passed. With every year that everyone survived to see.

The wear of time had dulled the memories of a time where the Autobots constantly lost comrades in battle and Optimus could no longer picture any of his core soldiers being off-lined.

Even though the likelihood of all of them surviving the war was slim to none.

He had a feeling that the first death that they'd end up facing, when the first mechin their little ragtag group would get killed, regardless of who it was, would be taken unusually hard. More-so then any of their comrades' deaths on Cybertron.

Because on Cybertron the troops rarely got to know each other in such a manner, or interact with such camaraderie as the Autobots on Earth did.

Sometimes Optimus didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing.

"Prime? Prime? _Optimus? _Primus fraggit, did your circuits _really_ fritz on me this time? Damn, where'd I put that electric saw?"

Prime swiftly snapped out of his thoughts and strode into the med bay (to get _away_ from Ratchet and his chainsaw, ironically enough). "That…won't be necessary." He relayed quickly.

Ratchet shot a mock scowl at his leader and abandoned his search for the surgical instrument. "You know, it's a real wonder that you survive in battle with all your spacing out."

"I have lots of dumb luck." a mischievous glint lit up Optimus's sky blue optics.

Ratchet's own Cerulean pair sent him a longsuffering look. "There should be emphasis on that dumb part sometimes."

Good ol' Ratchet. He was never afraid to tell you off regardless of who you are. Optimus liked that quality. It was refreshing to be treated like just another mech instead of as the supreme awe-inspiring commander of an army sometimes.

Still, the medic seemed grumpier then usual and Prime had a hunch on why.

Ratchet wordlessly walked out of the doorway and made his way past Prime to a recharge berth that had been modified for medical use. Prime quietly shadowed his steps until he was right behind the medic.

Ratchet started speaking softly, "I had to put restraints on him as a precaution, just in case he's a particularly violent one. Seems silly since he's so injured, but the last time I had to work on a Decepticon he woke up in the middle of surgery and put me in a headlock."

Prime had to picture that. The image of the surly medic in a headlock was oddly funny even the actual scenario probably hadn't been at the time. "That sounds rather dangerous though I'm not sure for who. You or your patient?"

"I beat that Con over the head with a spark monitor until he was unconscious again and I could finish repairing the fuselage leak." A bitter smile rose on Ratchet's face. "Wouldn't you know it though, my other patient, an Autobot named Cave Deal, shot him dead in the same fuselage I repaired a few days later." He paused. "Sorry Prime. This isn't what you came here for."

"It's alright, Ratchet," Prime assured softly. The Medic returned the look but it was quickly replaced with a harder, more professional expression.

"Anyway, this mech is in a pretty deep stasis lock. He probably won't wake up until I get him out of it."

Prime looked at the broken body on the table.

Strapped onto the berth was the small Decepticon that had, in the most literal sense of the term's usage, dropped in on them.

They had _only _taken him back to the Ark because they didn't really have much of a choice. By the time Ironhide had brought him to Prime the Decepticons were already gone, and it wasn't the Autobot way to leave a lone, injured mech with those circumstances on the field. He was also brought to the Ark because, though the others didn't know this yet, Optimus was curious if the battered Decepticon had anything to do with what Alpha Trion said not moments before. The timing had been rather coincidental with the message he received after all.

Anyway, said little mech was looking to be in a much better condition then he had been in earlier (where it looked like he gotten into a fight with an army of lawnmowers and lost horribly). His minor scrapes and cracks had been welded shut, Ratchet had reconstructed the most basic, skeletal frame of his missing arm, he had wires hooked up to a port in his right temple that were gauging the status of his freshly mended head injury and, while his side casing was still missing, most of the damage that had been done there was fixed and under control.

He still looked like total crap though if the jagged welding marks, the scraped blue and green paint job and various scuffs and dents were taken into account. Still, you could only do so much at a time and Ratchet _had_ gotten the big damage out of the way. The medic had simply decided to let the mech's self repair system run around the patch jobs before he completely finished with the grueling minor repairs and the aesthetic-maintenance session the kid still desperately needed.

Well, he'd only get to that point if the Autobots didn't give him back to his faction first.

"So," Prime started out resolutely. This was why he came to the medical bay in the first place. "How are the repairs coming along?"

Optimus watched as Ratchet's shoulders tensed. He quickly relaxed and shot a tired look over his shoulder at the Prime. It easily read as are-you-serious? "Have you ever tried repairing a multifunctional relay servo with rocks before?"

Optimus's optics flickered. "I can't say I have but it sounds rather difficult."

"You have no idea and this job was worse." Ratchet absentmindedly reached out and flexed the skeletal wrist he built for the mech, testing to see how well the joint worked. "Somehow I managed to get him stable. He's not out of the woods but at least he's probably seeing some gaps in the trees."

"Were his injuries really that bad?" It was a stupid question, Optimus knew, but he wanted to hear how Ratchet would respond.

"Despite the fact that his left arm was _wrenched _off by something, he had a hole in his side big enough to stick my fist in, and he was suffering from a potentially dangerous cerebral bleed, his injuries weren't the issue. I've repaired mechs with worse damage then this and never had the same amount of trouble." Ratchet, with gentleness few knew he possessed, set the skeletal hand down and turned to face his leader.

"Then what was the problem?" Optimus asked with earnest concern.

Ratchet crooked his finger. "Come here and take a look." He turned back to face his unusual patient and bent over to closer examine the Decepticon's uncovered side. Optimus complied with the request and ghosted next to the CMO.

"If you ignore the casing damage and just take a look at his structure, you see that everything about him is contradictory."

"What do you mean?"

"This." Ratchet motioned toward the exposed inner workings of the mech's side. "See this mechanism? The thing attached to the engine cowl right here is the axial-flow compressor."

"Alright." Optimus nodded despite the fact that he had no idea what Ratchet was talking about. His medical knowledge was basic at best. "What was wrong with it?"

"Nothing and that's what bothered me. They don't _make_ this kind of part anymore."

Prime looked at the medic in surprise. A lot was disguised in those few words. "What do you mean they don't make this part anymore?"

"This component hasn't been used since the beginning of the Second Great war eons ago."

Optimus glanced down at the stasis locked Decepticon. "Just how old is this mech?"

"Ah, _Hell_." Ratchet scowled, straightening to a stand. "I've done every scan I could think of on him. He's young, Prime. The chronometer scans showed that he's probably barely out of his primary years. I'll even throw one out there and say he barely has a millennium under his belt. However if you take that information in comparison to the ancient parts he's built with it doesn't make sense. The structure and pieces in his body are both archaic and obsolete to us now, but this kid looks fresh out of the factory."

"What are you implying Ratchet?" Optimus had an inkling that he already knew the answer.

"_Ironhide's _body is more up to date then this kid's. That's what was giving me trouble with the repairs. None of my tools were really compatible with his design. These parts and components he's built with would lead me to believe that this mech would have to have been built during the first Great War."

"That's impossible! If that were the case he'd be old as Alpha Trion! He's just a…child."

"And that's where the second issue comes in," Ratchet started sullenly.

Cybertronians, before the wars, originally started the first thousand years of their life in small, weak bodies so they'd have time to learn about their world and themselves with out causing damage to the world around them. They wouldn't be able to wreak the same havoc they'd be able to if they were in a bigger form.

However, since the wars a practice that ashamedly both sides did, even though the Autobots did not condone the act, was created.

It was the act of killing the young ones before they were old enough to carry a gun or protect themselves.

That's where the concept of Fledglings came in. Instead of a young Cybertronian spending the younger portion of their lives in a smaller weak form, their spark would be built straight into a body closer to that of a full grown Cybertronian. That way they had some chance in defending themselves against attack.

But here, in front of Optimus Prime and Ratchet, mechs that had been sparked as Fledglings, they had an unusual case.

"If I've done my homework correctly then I believe that before the first War Cybertron had a system of upgrades called the Juvenile steps where'd they ease a small newborn spark into a larger body as they learned more about themselves and their world. There were four of them, each one separated approximately by 300 years on average. Our unidentified mech, given his body form, probably is in his third upgrade, the stage right before what we would consider a Fledgling size. I'd call it the Cybertronian equivalent of Spike's age, _maybe_."

"If he was built that long ago that'd mean he'd have to be millions of years behind on his final upgrades. If he really was created in that time then he'd be older then Ironhide." Optimus stopped and thought hard. "Could he have been preserved with Cryogenics?"

"No," Ratchet nipped that thought in the bud curtly. "Even in Cryogenics there'd be a residual indicator left over that showed how old he was. No matter how perfectly something may appear to be preserved, the wear of time would still show somehow. This mech has not existed that long."

"I find this hard to believe." Optimus was skeptical.

"Me too. Now, the next question is where the fragging hell did he come from? Ironhide said he dropped out of the sky?" Ratchet sent Optimus a questioning look. He hadn't seen the mech drop in, him being busy with the task of saving Mirage's life and all, but Ironhide assured them that had been the case.

"We've seen stranger things," Optimus answered.

"Yeah, I guess we have." Ratchet went back to giving the lowdown of his abnormal patient. "Now, if these palm stabilizers and the boosters in his legs are any indication I'm going to assume he's a flyer. Not a seeker though, his design is too small and too weak to be one of those fraggers. Still the injury on his back makes me think he had aircraft wings, but they were ripped off of him in one way or another."

Prime winced. That couldn't have felt too nice.

"So I'm thinking as a flyer," Ratchet continued with his theory, "there's the possibility that he was on route to meet with the Decepticon forces and ran into some space debris which set him off course. That could have caused him to crash land."

"And he just happened to 'crash land' at our exact coordinates," Prime started doubtfully, "without his wings, looking like he got mauled by sharkticons," he finished in a flat tone.

"Damn it, Prime! I'm just throwing out theories. I haven't a frakin' clue, and I won't until he wakes up, and tells us. If he doesn't try attacking us first." Even though the Doctor in Ratchet wouldn't allow him to snub a patient in need of medical attention just because of their faction it didn't mean he'd have to particularly _like _working on a Decepticon.

"I'm sorry Ratchet but this is rather unsettling."

"Of course it is. He dropped out of the freaking sky." Ratchet threw his arms into the air and stomped over to where he kept his medical computer. "And now I'm going to show something even more disturbing." He started typing.

"Just what I needed," Prime responded evenly.

"You'll just love this. I was able to download his security number while I was fixing that head injury of his and decided to do a background check."

Every military mech had a security number that held their basic records and information, similar in the way human beings had social security or birth certificates though not quite as complicated. They were more like military dog tags then anything.

"Doesn't that go against the patient's privacy?" Optimus asked peacefully, masking his uncertainty.

"Not if I'm using them as medical records." Ah, the loophole. Ratchet typed in the number and a file came up.

"It says here he was one of 4,200 protoforms built in Tarn at the manufacturing facility 3700-4. His design is based on prototype form type 147 B with minor custom modifications. It doesn't appear that he has any specific creators registered under his creation date so I'll hazard a guess and say he was just churned out as your run of the mill conveyor belt bot. Sounds like a normal and average creation but tell me, what's wrong this picture?" Ratchet scowled.

Prime spotted the discrepancy right away. "Tarn? Tarn and Vos destroyed each other with photon missiles. There are no active sparking facilities in those areas any longer."

"Yeah and that happened thousands of Orns ago too. Hell, I was just a young bot when it happened. Sentinel was still Prime." Ratchet careened his head back to look at the Decepticon. "And _he_, if his internal clock is correct, is approximately 936 years old. Nowhere near old enough to have been created in Tarn before it was destroyed."

"So his age and creation are contradictory."

"Yes."

"And he fell out of the sky," Prime added as an afterthought. Couldn't forget that little detail, after all.

"Yes." Ratchet all but rolled his optics.

"I need to question him," Prime decided with certainty. "That's the only way we'll figure out where he came from and what he's doing here. For all we know he could be part of some Decepticon plot. You can never be too cautious." Optimus stopped, reflected on how much he sounded like Red Alert in that moment, and decided that he needed a vacation.

"I figured you'd want to. I already have him hooked up to a lie detector." Ratchet pointed to one of the wires, a small yellow and black striped one, attached to the mech's temple. There was a small, flat monitor with a glowing blue line running across the screen propped up next to the injured mech's berth. "If he's telling the truth the Polygraph's line will stay flat. If he's not, it'll spike. Trust me. This machine could catch Starscream in a lie."

The Prime looked at Ratchet in surprise. "This seems a bit early. Is his condition ready for questioning?"

"I've repaired him enough to pull him out of stasis right now if you want. He would've waken up already, if only briefly, if I didn't have him on so many neural buffers to keep him in stasis. It'd probably be easier to question him like this anyway and I need to see if that head injury affected the way he's functioning at some point. I can only really do that when he's conscious."

"Are you sure that'd be ok?"

"It's not like you're making him run a marathon." Ratchet would never make a patient do something, Decepticon or not, if it would compromise his or her health. Optimus knew he could trust Ratchet's judgment.

"I'd like that. There are some things that of recent have been bothering me."

Ratchet nodded. "Don't over exert him though or I'll kick your aft. The worst is out of the way, but he's still hurt. And Con or no, I have a reputation as a medic to uphold and straining my patients with interrogation is not what I want on my record."

"I'm only going to ask him a few things, just to figure out how he got here really. Besides, better it be I interrogating him then say, Ironhide."

Ratchet let out a laugh. "You've got that right. Hide's paranoid enough from just _catching _the mech." He walked to a machine the Decepticon was hooked up to and began shutting off the neural buffers. "Alright, some things you should know. He sustained head injuries. The scans I ran said his cerebral cortex was fine but regardless his mind may be somewhat scrambled so be careful what you ask. Keep your questions simple. He'll be out of it. Also he might panic slightly, or a lot, when he wakes because he can't move because of the restraints, and he won't be able to see. I had to shut his optical sensors off so his cerebral repair system could work more efficiently."

"I understand. Just one more thing before you turn him on."

"Yeah, Optimus?"

"If he happens to be some Decepticon super project, breaks free of his restraints and tries strangling me in headlock, could you toss me a crowbar or something?" Prime's requested gravely, voice deceptively serious sounding.

Ratchet chortled. "I'll be sure to do that." With that he shut off the Decepticon's last neural buffer, ran the stasis unlocking program and walked to the other side of the room to watch the grilling from afar.

There was the whirring of the Con's dormant systems coming to life. Then there was motion, the simplest twitch of movement from his uninjured arm. Optimus patiently waited.

The green mech made a groggy noise. The neural buffers had done their basic job and he probably couldn't feel much pain, just numbness. The mech tried moving ever so slightly but the restraints restricted his motion. The Decepticon gave up moving with out much of a fuss. He was probably too exhausted to anyway.

More awake, the mech tilted his head slightly to the left, then slightly to the right. His brow knitted in confusion. Prime guessed the confusion was because he couldn't see.

"Where-?" The young Decepticon croaked. His voice was barely above a whisper. "What?" he questioned a little louder, and his voice was a little deeper then Prime had been expecting given his form.

The mech continued to _'look' _around in confusion. Optimus decided to make himself known.

"So, you're awake," Optimus stated with ambiguity in his voice. The Decepticon went rigid and tilted his head in Prime's general direction. His optics, they had been an in-your-face fire engine red Optimus remembered, were almost black and unseeing. "You are currently in an Autobot medical bay aboard the battleship Ark."

"Autobot?" The mech parroted, slowly gathering his senses from the fog of stasis.

"Yes."

"So you're Cybertronian too?" the mech questioned a bit nervously.

"Yes." Prime replied, somewhat glad it didn't appear like the mech was going to break free of his restraints and attack him anytime soon. That wouldn't have been much fun to deal with.

The small mech relaxed considerably after hearing that Optimus was Cybertronian. Optimus thought it was odd how trusting the 'Con was being but figured it was just because he wasn't completely free of the after effects of stasis. "Do you understand your situation?"

The 'Con's lips tightened to a straight line. "You said medical bay…I'm injured then? Is that why I can't see?"

That wasn't entirely the response Prime was expecting. He had been expecting something more along the lines of "_Autobot scum! You'll never get anything out of me! When I break free I'm going to rip your spark out!" _or something of the sort.

The little mech was a Decepticon and therefore was technically a prisoner of war. He would've figured the Con would be more concerned about that tidbit of knowledge. "Yes. You had a heavy cerebral bleed which our medic managed to fix. We had to shut off your optical functions temporarily so your self repair program could run more effectively."

The mech nodded. "Thank you for fixing me."

Well if that wasn't the dang most polite Decepticon Optimus had ever spoken too, and he had only been conscious for a minute or two. Those most of been some strong neural buffers…

"You're welcome," Optimus replied, though somewhat awkwardly. He stood in quiet for a brief moment longer before starting again with a tone that held subtle authority, "Alright... I'm going to be honest with you. You are not in a very good position right now. However, given your unusual situation we may be able to work something out and get you back to your faction with out many complications. I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to ask you some questions and I want you to be truthful. You're hooked to a polygraph so we'll know if you're lying. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir?" The 'Con answered compliantly though with confused undertones in his voice.

'_He called me Sir,'_ Prime noted dully. "I understand you're injured so I'll try to keep my questions as simple as possible. If you start to blackout or feel unusual pain, tell me and my Chief Medical Officer will take care of it." Prime shot a look back at Ratchet who nodded in confirmation.

The green and blue mech made a weak nodding motion.

"Well, I'll start with something easy. Could you tell me your name?" Optimus asked calmly.

"My name is Valence, Sir," Valence answered respectfully.

"Valence." Prime tried the name out. "Alright. Now, Valence. Do you know anyone by the name of Alpha Trion?" Might as well ask the things that were bugging him the most first.

"I can't say that I do, Sir."

"Alright." So that was scratched out. Then again Alpha Trion said that a bartender chose a mech so, "Have you been in any bars lately?"

"Er…I don't believe so, Sir. I just got my Third upgrade and there hasn't been an opportunity," Valence answered somewhat hesitantly.

Optimus blinked and realized he had probably sounded like a complete loon in asking that. Ratchet was probably looking at him weird too but at least that proved the medic's theory about Valence as far as the Juvenile steps went. "So what do you do, Valence?"

"I am designated a Decepticon under the Cybertronian Resistance Alliance's military."

Discomfited, Optimus walked closer and sat down on the stool that was conveniently placed next to the berth. He had never heard of a Cybertron resistance alliance but remembered what Ratchet had said. _'He sustained head injuries. His mind may be somewhat scrambled so be careful what you ask._ "Do you know how you got here? What were your reasons for coming to Earth?"

"I'm sorry?" Valence asked, seemingly confused. "I don't know where _here_ is. Is Earth a new city?"

"Earth is different planet."

That seemingly shocked the other mech. "How'd I get here? I've never left Cybertron before." He sounded panicked.

It looked as if things were going to be more difficult then Prime had hoped. The more questions he had the other answer the more confusing the situation got. Prime shot a brief glance at the polygraph and saw that it was still running a steady line. Valence was telling the truth.

"I don't know, Valence. That's what we're trying to find out," Prime reassured with a steady tone. Valence dipped his head feebly as a reply, still acting unusually obedient for a Decepticon who was technically a POW.

"So, Valence, you're a military mech?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm a Private first class and was under the leadership of the Autobot Grit Haul. He was the one that led my unit in battle." That was quite the bomb to drop.

Ratchet from afar somehow tripped over himself and almost went sprawling. Optimus remained stationary and merely blanched. The lie detector was still not making any notion of showing that the pine green 'Con was being dishonest.

After regaining his composure Ratchet sent Prime a look and mouthed, _"What in the hell was a Decepticon doing under the leadership of an Autobot?" _Prime shrugged.

This little interrogation was not going as planned.

However Prime decided not to address the abnormality of Valence's words directly and rolled with it. "I noticed you used past tense when referring to this Grit Haul. Did something happen? We're you reassigned. Did you do something to be discharged?"

"N-no, Sir." The mech's voice cracked. "Grit Haul was KIA."

"Killed in Action?"

"Yes, Sir. He was a great mech though."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Optimus paused. "Valence, would you mind if I asked why were you, a Decepticon, under the leader ship of an Autobot?" Maybe the Decepticon was a deserter. That _would be _an explanation.

"I don't believe I understand your question, Sir." The mech's voice fluctuated slightly with fatigue.

Prime heaved a sigh. Of coarse he wouldn't get a direct response. That would be too easy.

Optimus tried to keep it uncomplicated while still getting an answer. "What does being a Decepticon mean to you?"

The Decepticon didn't even need to think about his answer. "It means I was sparked as a mech created for militaristic use instead of a bot of burden like the Autobot brand."

That was interesting. "So Decepticons and Autobots…You don't consider them factions?"

"Of course not, Sir. They're just our designations of use." Valence paused. "I thought that was common knowledge."

Optimus shot Ratchet a confused look and Ratchet replied with an equally lost shrug.

"I'm just trying to keep questions simple. You were injured remember? We need to see how your memory is faring," Optimus lied, cleverly. Valence bought it and gave a weak smile. "So back to your military job. As a PFC what were your duties?"

"It was nothing special, Sir. My designation was a runner. I mostly carried messages and occasionally was a code breaker if no one better was around. I never saw much combat."

"What about the rest of your unit?"

He hesitated. "Killed in action as well, Sir."

That remark made Optimus blink. "How, exactly?"

"…I don't remember, Sir." The small mech paused, looking quite out of it. "If you don't mind me asking, what's _your_ name, Sir?"

That caught Optimus off guard. It had been so out of the blue, but then he realized how unusually trusting the small mech had been to this point and figured it wasn't atypical to want to know who it was you were being interrogated by, if just to settle the mind somewhat (Though Prime had to admit, as far as interrogation went this was probably the easiest and most laidback, if not confusing, one ever).

He gave Valence a long hard look deciding whether or not it would be smart to reply considering his rank in the Autobots and the other's faction but then he figured he'd tell the kid if only to see how the other reacted. So far the little Decepticon was not acting as a Decepticonshould, or would normally in that situation. "My name is Optimus Prime."

Prime waited for a response, waited for the small Decepticon to cringe in disgust or fear at hearing his name. What happened was a bit different.

"That's rather interesting, Optimus Prime Sir," Valence said thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware anyone else besides Nova held the title of Prime."

"Nova Prime?" That honestly surprised Optimus. Nova Prime had been the Prime before Sentinel Prime, his own predecessor. "You were being led under Nova Prime?" he repeated for emphasis.

"Nova Prime and the Lord High Protector: Gloryseer."

Prime remembered his history lessons well. "Gloryseer was a Decepticon."

"Yes. He is," Valence replied unenergetically.

Prime mulled it over. Valence, the strange mech that fell out of the sky, claimed to have been under the command of two mechs who had been dead for millions of years. Conversely the history wasn't matching up either. Those two mechs were never allies. In fact they had spent their lifetimes with the soul purpose of eradicating the other.

Optimus came to an odd and somewhat discomforting conclusion. "So the Autobots and Decepticons were allied?"

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Ratchet gape.

"Of course we are, Sir," Valence responded. Optimus noted the usage of present tense. "We are all Cybertronian aren't we?"

For some reason that offhand comment stabbed deep into Optimus's spark but he continued with his questioning. "You said something about combat earlier. Who were you fighting against?"

"Quintessons," the 'Con answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the World. "They attacked our planet centuries ago. You're a Prime, right, Sir? Weren't you aware of that?"

"My crew and I have been away from Cybertron for a very long time." That much was the truth. "How were the combined forces faring?"

"Against all odds we were winning." A tired but fond smile played over the Con's lips before dropping into a frown. "Something went wrong though."

"Wrong?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"I don't know. We had just driven them off. All we had to do was rebuild Cybertron but- I'm not really sure."

"Valence, I need you to try and remember," Optimus urged firmly. "I don't think you are fully aware of your situation here. We need to understand your circumstances as best as we can if we're to help you and sort all of this out. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Valence answered though it became evident that he truly didn't understand his situation: A Decepticon in Autobot hold. "Cybertron- I believe the sky was red. There was fire in the distance, that's why I think. But something else was wrong… with the sky, I mean."

"What was wrong with the sky, Valence?"

"There was an extra moon," he whispered hazily, succumbing to the pull of lethargy more and more as time went on. "Or maybe it was a planet. I think it had a ring around it."

Prime sighed. The young mech's increasing tiredness was making him more difficult to understand.

"Were you under attack?" Prime asked delicately, trying to incite some sort of response. "Was the extra moon a ship? A different race? An Army?"

Valence shook his head in a no motion.

"Was there a mutiny? Did the Decepti- Auto…." Prime stopped. "Did any one from the Cybertronian alliance revolt?"

Valence shook his head. "I don't think so. But something was there. The planet was falling apart. Everything was breaking." He frowned. "I don't remember why but… everyone was dead."

Prime went rigid. "Is…Is that what happened to your platoon and Leader."

Valence hesitated but nodded, affirming Prime's suspicion.

For some reason that didn't bode well with Optimus, and based on the expression across Ratchet's face it didn't sit well with him either. "Why was everyone dead?"

"I don't know."

"This is important, Valence. You need to remember. What attacked Cybertron?" Optimus pushed for an answer, feeling on edge.

"I was…running a message from Altihex to Iacon," he started. "It took me a bit longer then it should have. I ran into an abandoned Quintesson drone but out flew it." He paused. "When I got to Iacon everyone was dead."

"Why was everyone dead, Valence?" Prime asked more firmly then before.

Optimus had just talked to some of his troops on Iaconw ithin the past week when he was requesting Swerve as a metallurgist. He knew the city was fine, but this strange boy claimed not all was well and if the lie detector was any indication he was telling the truth.

"I don't kn- wait." Valence stopped as if thinking hard. Optimuswaited with bated breath. "There was someone left, someone alive."

"Who? Were they Autobot or Decepticon?"

"Neither. The mech didn't have any insignia."

"Can you describe him?"

"He was standing in the shadow, standing over a mound of…bodies. He was big. He was shaped sort of like Nova Prime was. I can't recall his face but it was his optics I remember."

"What was it about his optics?"

"They were gold," Valence said wistfully.

That was more significant then it sounded. While the shades varied, Cybertronians either received red optics or blue optics. That was it. Optic color was as much a show of allegiance as an insignia was.

Though there were some mechs who's optics were borderline other colors. The Lamborghini twins were a Prime example actually. Their optics were a shade away from being flat out violet.

"What happened next?" asked Optimus.

Valence went quiet. For a second Optimus thought he had fallen back into recharge and wouldn't have blamed himif he did. This little game of questions and answers was going a lot longer then he expected, and in a radically different direction as well. But then Valence said something in a hesitant, disturbed tone that chilled Optimus. "I think I died. I think that mech killed me."

The polygraph still made no noise. "That doesn't make any sense, Valence. You're alive right now aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess," he said sleepily. "But last I remember I was at Iacon. Then there was light. I'm sorry I can't remember, Prime Sir. Everything is really fuzzy."

"It's alright, Valence." Optimus looked the young mech over. He looked exhausted and he _was _still recovering. It looked like their discussion would have to be put on hold. "Go back to recharge. We'll figure out what to do with you when you wake."

"Ok." The small mech answered softly. Optimus got up to walk away but Valence's voice crossed his audios one last time. "Huh you know I was wrong. I think there was one other mech who was named Prime, the one I saw at Iacon with the Gold Optics. I think his name…was…. Nemesis Prime."

0000000000000000

Prime had called a board meeting the second he left the medical room.

Jazz, Ironhide, Prowl and the rest of his officers were sitting around the conference table and were staring at him expectantly waiting for him to say something regarding the "interrogation" session with the Decepticon.

"Well," Prime began halfheartedly. His officers all leaned in ever so slightly with eager looks in their optics. "Either that was both the most deceptively polite and compliant Decepticon I have ever come across or that mech really believes the Autobots and Decepticons are fighting under one banner. It honestly doesn't seem like he thinks we're enemies."

"Well come on, Prime. You know that has ta be a load of Bull!" Ironhide slammed his hands on the table and rose from his seat. "What's he doin' here! Did the Cons send fer him or what?"

"Honestly," Prime began unenthusiastically, "it didn't seem like he knew what he was doing on Earth. He never heard of it before actually, and he made it apparent he didn't know anything about being a Decepticon reinforcement, _or_ anything about Bartenders."

"…Bartenders, Prime?" Prowl sent him a questioning look. Prime's head snapped up. He hadn't meant to let that slip.

"It's nothing," He declared quickly. "However what he did tell me was rather…baffling."

"Which was what?"

"Ratchet recorded the whole exchange which I'll show to you all later. For now I'll just try to paraphrase this best I can. He thinks the Autobots and Decepticons are fighting as combined forces under the leader ship of Nova Prime and Gloryseer against an invading race called Quintessons."

"The hell?" Ironhide barked. "Nova Prime never teamed up with no Decepticons!"

"Hide's right. Sides, those two've been dead for ages," Jazz started, somewhat skeptically. "That'd make the kid over there 19 million years old and he don't look a day over 1000."

"I'm just relaying what he said," Prime stated, sternly. "Apparently the combined forces, he called it the CybertronianResistance Alliance, drove this invading race off, which if it actually ever did happen I suppose would be good news, but then he told me something rather unsettling. He said someone killed everyone in Iacon and the planet was falling apart."

There was a stunned silence .

"That's not possible. We just spoke with Iacon half a week ago so they'd send Swerve and everything was fine! That and Iacon has _never_ been breached," Red Alert began speaking rapidly, and panicked.

"I checked in with Iacon again on my way here and it's just as we've left it," Prime said halting any fears amongst his men.

"Prime," Wheeljack started off hesitantly, "D'you say that someone, as in _one _guy, killed everyone in Iacon?"

"According to Valence, yes. At least he only _saw _one mech. I believe he said the mech in question was named Nemesis Prime. Can anyone tell me if that name rings a bell?"

Everyone exchanged looks.

"Well, I can't say I've ever heard of mech named Nemesis, an' I'm sure if he did what that kid, Valence, claimed he did we would've heard somethin'." Jazz scratched the back of his helm, a habit he picked up from Spike. "Whaddabout you, Prowl? Ever hear of some cat named Nemesis Prime?"

"Don't be idiotic, Jazz. That was obviously a lie." A stony looked spread across Prowl's face. "It is general knowledge that there can only be one Prime at a time. There is only one matrix of leadership and as such can only be carried by one mech. It's common logic. If there is a mech out there claiming to have the title of Prime he must be an imposter."

"I think that head injury of his must've been worse then I thought. Not only did he think the Autobots and Decepticons were allies but he completely recreated a history from millions of years ago," Ratchet grumbled. "But all the same, the polygraph's scans all read the same. He wasn't lying."

"Or at least he made himself believe he wasn't lyin'." Jazz drummed his fingers on the table, a show sign he was getting antsy. "There's that possibility. I mean his helmet _was _almost cracked in half when we dragged 'im here. _Something_ pro'lly got messed up in his processor."

"But what about his body design and age." Wheeljack, who had been unusually quiet up until that point threw in his two cents. "I was in the med bay workin' on finishing Mirage's casing when Ratchet was working on that 'Con. He's a young kid with an old body design that's been obsolete for millennias. What if he's not actually lying? What if…" Wheeljack quieted.

"What, Wheeljack?" Optimus prodded.

"What if he's, ya know, from a different time? I've tinkered around with the concept of time travel before. I mean come on. Math proves that it's possible. We sent the Aerial Bots back once by accident, didn't we?"

Prime's optics widened. He hadn't even thought of that possibility. But the odds were slim in that case. No one had really successfully created a time machine that worked. On purpose, anyways. "I guess it could be plausible. That would explain why his body design is so old but he's so young."

"That can not be the case," Prowl disputed. "Let's say for a moment that he is from the past. Well what kind of past would that be? Nova Prime and Gloryseer_ never _teamed up. Autobots and Decepticons have essentially always been enemies,_ and _he said that everyone in Iacon,_ our most impenetrable stronghold_, was dead. Does that sound like anything we've heard in the history tracks? Even if he came from the past, his stories and accounts would not match up to what we already know."

"Alright, so back to square one it is." Jazz sighed, sliding his elbows forward on the table so he could rest his head. He hated officer meetings with an unholy passion. He was more of an action oriented mech so sitting around and talking just didn't do it for him.

"So… We don't where he's from," Ironhide twanged. "Whadda we do with 'im? Give um to Megatron or keep 'im here?" Prime could tell by Ironhide's tone that he wanted to get rid of the Decepticon as quickly as possible.

"I don't believe giving him to Megatron would be wise at this moment," Prowl answered. Ironhide's look deflated. "If this mech, Valence, didn't know he was on Earth, then there's a chance Megatron doesn't either. We should try to question him further later. To find out where he came from and figure out if there's any basis in what he told Prime."

"Excuse me. I think I have a theory."

The seven officers turned to the office's door. Standing there was Skyfire. He was crouching so he'd be eye level with the other mechs.

"Jazz. You left the door open again," Prowl noted flatly.

"M-hm," Jazz answered lazily not really hearing the accusation. He was borderline asleep, and snuggled his face further into his own arms. Prowl gave him a longsuffering look.

"Skyfire what are you doing here?!" Red Alert stood, and glared accusingly. "This meeting is classified."

"I'm sorry," Skyfire smiled gently, a somewhat regretful look in his optics. "I happened to overhear as I was passing by and curiosity got the better of me I suppose. I apologize."

"Jeez, I didn't think you'd be such a snoop, Skyfire." Ratchet groused. "Didn't you know that curiosity killed the techno-cat."

"But satisfaction brought him back," Skyfire finished. The knowledge hungry adventurer in him was getting the better of him indeed.

"Sky, ya have a theory?" Anticipation filled Wheeljack's optics, eager for the other to share information.

"Well, that's more then I can say for us," Optimus looked around the table, his eyes lingering on a now recharging Jazz, then back at the large shuttle. "Let's hear it." He motioned Skyfire to enter.

The large shuttle barely fit through the already large door but somehow managed to get inside despite the tight squeeze.

"Wheeljack, I think you are actually on the right track as far as the time travel but I think there's a little more to it then that." Skyfire had a thoughtful look across his face. "When I was a scientist on Cybertron I heard many of my colleagues discuss this topic. Math also proves what I'm going to say next even though no one, as far as I know, has ever successfully accomplished this particular feat."

"And would that be?" Prime asked, decidedly.

"Dimensional travel," Skyfire dropped his theory like a bomb. "What if he's from a different dimension? What if he's not only from a different time but a different reality as well?"

Well, that was a new one.

"So," Wheeljack started after a moment of silence. "If he did come from another dimension, how did he actually get here?"

No one had the answer to that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Valence and Gloryseer were made up for the sake of the story. Valence, despite how much the Autobots griped about him this chapter, is not going to be this story's central focus. I just need him for plot reasons. That's all.

Sorry if everyone's confused. I'm trying to explain everything best I can. It'll all make sense soon.

Quick question. Should I combine the two prologue chapters?

So reviews are loved, concrit is welcome and flames are used for marshmallows.


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